Jack's Place
by harleyquintessential
Summary: Two years after his capture, The Joker has escaped from Arkham Asylum. Emma, a tenant of a decrepit apartment complex in the Narrows, suspects a former neighbor of being the madman that tore Gotham apart. She's kept her suspicions to herself for two years, but what will she do when he comes back? Joker
1. Boy Next Door

Chapter One: Boy Next Door

She couldn't breathe all day. There was a constriction in her chest, each breath was raspy and unsure of itself. Her mind was just as unsure, it could not decide whether it wanted to be on the alert or completely inert. One moment she would be looking over her shoulder, recognizing a particular shade of green. Or a particular shade of brown. The next she would slip into her own mind for a few moments, contemplating her own idiocy at being so afraid. No, that's not the right word. Not afraid. Anxious. So anxious. She'd slowly assess her own memories and reasoning and deem her assumptions as childish. She was wrong. Then she'd go back to work, handing out dishes and taking orders with proficiency. But, something would strike her again. A woman with a particular bloody shade of red over her taut, smiling lips would pull her back into her reverie. A beat would pass, the woman would cough politely.

"Did you get that, honey?"

"w-What?" Emma sputters, placing a hand against her temple and rubbing harshly at the flesh. She lets her eyes focus fully on the woman in front of her, trying to ignore the jarringly red lips that are forming into a pitying smile.

"It's okay. I'll just have coffee then," she says, reassuringly. Her eyes flit back to a newspaper splayed out on the table.

"Sure. Um- yeah, I'll go get that for you."

The woman gives a nod, eyes never leaving the newspaper. Emma doesn't have to sneak a peak to know what she's reading. It's all over the news. It's all people have been talking about all day. She'd never had to contemplate how hard it is to ignore a subject when it was all anyone was talking about. The great escape. Twelve inmates at Arkham Asylum had escaped. No one knew where they had gone. They'd just vanished. At night they were safe and sound in their rooms. By morning, they were gone.

The waitress tried to control her breathing once more, not letting her anxiety get the best of her again. Instead, she focused on the task at hand; making her way behind the counter, grabbing a coffee-stained, but otherwise clean, coffee cup and an equally stained saucer. She filled the cup with the noxious liquid (her boss, Elton, preferred to keep the coffee just short of tar) and then she quickly grabbed a container filled with cream and packets sugar. About to give herself a mental pat on the back for moving past the issue that's been haunting her for the hundredth time that day, she gets distracted by the television jutting out from the wall. Halfway between the counter and the expecting woman, she stops in her tracks.

There he is. Just a picture of him, hanging just above the shoulder of Mike Engel. The anchor is waving frantically, gesticulating in an almost manic way. She can just imagine the reaction the man is having to Joker's escape. He'd been taken hostage by the madman just two years ago, and it would seem that the grudge is still there. The television flashes to a compilation of photos, twelve to be exact. They go over each one: a mugshot of a man with a blonde buzzcut. He'd be attractive, save for a collection of barbarous cuts not completely covered by his asylum uniform. Tally marks. She shivers. An older man with thick, grease coated hair. An attractive woman with thick red tresses wildly framing her picturesque face. Their names and faces flash quickly by, the GNN logo being the only thing that continuously remains on the screen. Then, the twelfth picture. Joker. His face twisted grotesquely into an exaggerated smile. His eyes look wildly out through the photo, and she can't help but feel slightly uncomfortable. Strangely, his full make up is still on- she imagines these pictures were taken once he was taken into custody two years ago. Why bother to show a picture of him at all? It was n't likely that anybody in Gotham didn't know what the madman looked like. Dark pictures of a ghostly, laughing face haunts the best of them from the videos he sent to GNN. They all knew what he looked like, that was certain. Well, probably not to the extent she did-

"Hello?"

Snapping back into her body, she flips around, an apology already forming. But, before she can utter her phrases, she slams into a hard body. Searing pain for a quick moment; the coffee drizzling down her uniform.

"FUCK!" she screams into the face of the male customer she had rammed into. Not even bothering to apologize for her own clumsiness, she rips a towel that was strategically placed in the pocket of her apron and begins hopelessly drying off the still-hot liquid from her.

"Em?" a voice says from behind her, stern but with a sense of concern.

"It's fine, Elton," she says through gritted teeth, scrubbing aggressively though she knows that the stain has set no matter what she does.

"No, Em, it really isn't." Nervous laugh. God, that laugh is her equivalent to nails scratching a chalkboard. She turns to him, an exaggerated look of intent on her small face. He takes this as leave to continue- though it really wasn't. "You seem a little stressed today." His broad shoulders shrug, as if to say it's understandable. "We're all a little stressed out, you know? Maybe you should go home. Get some rest."

She grimaces, catches herself, and tries to smile. "I-" she walks closer to him, trying to keep the conversation just between the two of them "I need the money... I'm fine. It's a little stress, but I'm sure I'll calm down."

"Don't worry about the money." He laughs, gratingly, again. She tries not to glare. He knows that she needs the extra hours; rent is skyrocketing, even in the Narrows. The girl can take care of herself, she'd always done just that. But even she, working seven days a week with a just-above minimum wage salary, had to choose between electricity and running water every other month. "I can't afford to lose another cup or plate today, Em."

Her eyes glance down at the broken coffee cup on the floor. Forlornly, she massages at a fresh pang at her temple. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." He just nods. "I'll- I'll just clean up the mess."

"No no no. It's _fine_," he says reassuringly, taking the towel from her hands. "I got it." He winks, and she is forced to put on another grimace/smile in response to his friendliness.

"Thanks."

* * *

She slips into her one bedroom apartment; dropping keys to floor, letting her overcoat drop down from her shoulders to the floor, kicking off her shoes to a corner. She locks the door, and sluggishly makes her way to her bedroom. It's just big enough to fit a bed and have a closet that opens. Most of her clothes lay on the floor, however. A small stack of books lay on the floor, a laptop resting, precariously, atop them. Emma falls onto the bed and immediately groans. It was one thing, to be busily taking orders at the diner, letting her mind fall into thoughts of Joker every once in a while. It was quite another thing to be sitting in her apartment, with no distractions from the thoughts plaguing her.

Especially with such proximity to the empty apartment across the hall. His apartment. At least... she thought it was his apartment. Jack's apartment. Jack, the quiet enigma. Jack, the guy with the scraggly brown hair and seemingly endless supply of black hoodies pulled up to encase his entire upper body and most of his face. Jack, the eerily quiet neighbor with the penchant for slipping out at night with a backpack, thinking that no one would noticed. But she had. The walls were thin, and Emma wasn't much of a sleeper. Every night at eleven thirty, he'd disappear. Walking quietly past the wall that separated the hallway from her bedroom. Sometimes a floorboard would squeak, more often not.

She'd always wondered where he'd gone off to, the boy with the scars. Emma usually kept to herself, but she'd let her mind wander to just what he would spend his time doing. At first, she found it distasteful. It was probably a job, and she knew what nighttime jobs in Gotham entailed. Then she imagined a lengthy list of things. Convenience store robbery? Thief? Mugger? Maybe he was the Batman, she'd joked. Which- she must admit- is ironic now.

Upon moving in, she'd thought that particular apartment was vacant. No noise came from it, except at night where she could hear the door open and soft footsteps falling just outside. However, a month passed before they finally met.

It was a weekend, she had no work the next day. She had a small amount of spare cash on her, and her stomach was growling. All of these reasons led her from her apartment at exactly eleven thirty at night, heading for the 24-hr convenience store a block up. She was locking her door when she heard a knob turn behind her. His door opened as she twisted her key. It remained open as she took the key from her knob and turned around. He stood in his doorway, looking at her with an almost surprised expression for a moment. He was tall. Taller than her by at least five inches, but he wore a baggy hoodie that enveloped his entire upper frame and a pair of slouchy jeans that looked ragged. His hair was slicked back, and his face almost boyish in his surprise. The only thing that marred his otherwise handsome face was a series of scars gaping across it, creating the appearance of a jack-o-lantern smile where there wasn't one. Her eyes flashed across it for a moment, before looking down, placing her keys in her bag. She looked back up as he exited into the cramped hallway with her and closed the door to his own apartment, not bothering to lock it.

"Hi," she said to the back of his head, "My name's Emma."

He turned around, looking down at the hand she had extended to him as if it distressed him. She looked at his own hand expectantly, watching it clench and unclench. Something about him made her uneasy. His nighttime habits of disappearing and his somewhat intimidating appearance she could brush off, but this brief exchange made her break into a light cold sweat. She noticed how his posture was stooped, slouched, but still managing to seem tense. His eyes were watching her incredulously, as if she was some kind of animal that had learned to walk and talk. His head tilted to the side, and his eyes roamed over her body. Not in a leering way, but something about the action was much more sinister. As if he was wondering, not what she'd look like under her clothes, but what she'd look like a layer under that. Her hand dropped back to her side.

He disappeared a year after that- just gone. The same time the Joker had been placed in Arkham Asylum. At first it was a fleeting suspicion. The Joker's antics had gotten him so much media attention, it seemed impossible that she'd been the only one to notice a similarity between the scarred Jack and the scarred Joker. But, then again, people in the Narrows keep their heads down. They don't look anyone in the eye, and with his "warpaint" smeared across his face: his scars were practically hidden in his attempt to make them more pronounced. Plus... she had a feeling that she was the only one that had really seen his face.

She cupped her face in her hands, willing herself to forget all about Jack or Joker or whoever he was. It wasn't as if she'd ever see him again. But then- with Batman gone... who could really stop him?

The lithe girl got off her bed, stretching her arms and back until she heard a satisfying crack. Then she rubbed her forehead and scalp until she could calm her thoughts completely. _He's not coming_, she told herself.

_He's not going to come back here. He's going to run from Gotham and find a new city to tear apart._

Emma slipped off her waitress uniform, a blocky paisley blue dress with red trimming and a completely settled coffee stain. She throws it into a pile she _thinks_ are dirty, and makes a pact with herself to go down to the laundry room in the basement later tonight. But then she looks out the window, the sun is setting, and she changes her pact to tomorrow morning. Right now, she's going to go pick up her mail and see if Ms. Johnson is in.

Ms. Johnson is the landlord of the shitty apartment building, and one of the sweetest ladies in the world. Until it was that time of the month. The time where she harassed and harassed until her tenants paid the rent (most of the time, the rent for the previous month). But Emma, being Emma, never made it onto her list of useless tenants who owed her. Every first, Emma was downstairs with an exact check that never bounced. So, they were always on good terms. Ms. Johnson would invite her in for some desert that she had made recently, and Emma would accept most of the time. Tonight, however, she wasn't sure if she would be good company.

Walking down the stairs, she planned on slipping her check under the old woman's door and making it up to her the next night- when her head was firmly on her shoulders and not constantly swiveling, expecting dark eyes bordered with black paint to be glaring at her. Leather gloves clutching and unclutching. White face with a red slit running through it; head cocking to the side, wanting to see what she looks like under her skin.

But then she saw Ms. Johnson's door already open and the old woman laughing quite loudly. Her interest piqued, she gave a small knock on the door and poked her own head in. Ms. Johnson immediately waved her in, a welcoming smile gracing her aged face. "Emma! Look who's come back!" she said, almost girlishly. Emma's eyes scanned the broad shoulders of the man sitting in front of Ms. Johnson. Messy, moss-colored hair almost touched his shoulders. Her body tensed immediately. She tried to think of words, but none came. He looked back at her, head cocking and a smile gracing his lips. His eyes, however, still vacant. The scars were still there, painfully present.

"Emma!" he stood, coming towards her with an expression of surprise and relief. His arms were extended before him, as if he were going to hug her. She panicked. She stepped back. He looked as if he was hurt and gave Ms. Johnson a shy smile before turning back to the shaking girl. "Don't you remember me? Jack. Jacky jack jack." His voice lilted in a playful way, but he grabbed her shoulders painfully. She winced, but tried to smile at him.

"Jack," she said with no inflection in her voice.

"Emma," he said, releasing her shoulders for a job well done.

"Jack's back from... where was it again?"

"Minnesota. Had some family problems."

"Minnesota! Isn't that nice? And we still have his apartment ready for him."

"That's great," Emma said mechanically.

She placed her envelope on the table and stated something about not feeling very well. The girl ignored the older woman's requests to stay- she hurriedly left the room, trying to control her breathing as she leapt from stair to stair. Panicked tears were pricking behind her eyes and she wanted to get back into her apartment before they fell. Falling back onto the bed, she breathed in heavily and released a shaky breath. _This was just a coincidence_, she told herself. _It's not him._ The tears quickly dissipated as she slowly calmed herself, admonishing her childish behavior towards him. If her suspicions were true, then she shouldn't be any different around him. If they weren't true, then she'd treated his new friendly disposition with nonchalance.

A few hours past in her state of discontent. She tried to read. She showered. She tried to steal internet from a neighbor. Then she tried to read again. Nothing could take her mind off of her returned neighbor. At about eight o'clock she fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

At nine thirty she woke up as the floorboard in the hallway creaked. She knew it was him. He was right outside. Again. Just like all those years before, but he was more of a threat now. There was more to fear than just a neighbor with weird habits, if she was right. There was a mass-murder, a terrorist really.

She got up, deciding to see if she could catch a glimpse of him through the peephole. It was so dark, but she didn't turn on the light. She didn't want him to see the light through the crack in her door and think... _That I'm in my own apartment?_ Either way, she refrained. She pressed her hands to the door and stood on her tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the neighbor/murderer. Nothing, his door was shut. i Maybe he wasn't even moving back in, she let out a sigh of relief.

"_Tsk tsk_. Never would have pegged you for a **_peeping_** tom, Emma."


	2. Threats and ChitChat

Chapter Two: Threats and Chit-chat

"Tsk tsk. Never would have pegged you for a peeping tom, Emma."

The girl gasped, whipping her entire body around, eyes searching the dark room for him. Her hand blindly traced the wall, looking for the light switch. She flicked it on and a flood of bright light enveloped the room, blinding her for the briefest moment. When she recollected herself, she saw him. Back pressed against the wall that separated her kitchen from her bedroom. A loose fitting white t-shirt draped over his torso and a pair of ragged jeans graced his form. She was taken aback by how comfortable he looked in her apartment, as if this was something that had occurred many times before. A great deal of danger emanated from him, but in an almost lazy way. As if he could attack at any moment, but essentially it would mean nothing. Emma was reminded of lions in nature documentaries; stretching in a relaxed way before jumping almost playfully upon a gazelle. In this analogy, she was well aware of her gazelle status and she flinched as she heard the sound of bones snapping in a far corner of her mind.

"What were looking for, _neighbor_?" He drawled the word out, staring intently into her brown eyes. "Trying to _sneak_ a peak? Hm? _Hm_?" He pushed off the wall, moving towards her with his shoulders stooped low. "Not very _ladylike_, is it, Emma? Trying to catch a glimpse of poor, unsuspecting Jackjack." He reached her at this point, slamming his left hand onto the door and leaning in close.

She struggled at gaining her voice back; swallowing thickly and avoiding his dark eyes. "W-what do you want, Jack?" She was surprised at how level she managed to make her voice. It filled her with a strange sense of confidence, though she was currently living the nightmare she had been imagining for the past two years.

"Emma Emmaaaa, _darling_, Emma," he sang in an increasingly nasally voice. "Isn't it so very obvious?" He exhaled slowly, his warm breath caressing her skin. The girl gave the slightest shake of her head. "Just a guess then? Hm? I'm not exactly ol' Eddy buuuuut I do like a good little riddle every now and then." Another shake of her head. "**DON'T. PLAY. COY**," his voice was harsh, losing all sense of sickening playfulness that he'd started with. He breathed out harshly through his nose, looking downward at the distance between their two bodies. "I don't particularly like the _chase_, Em. I'm more, er, interested in the endgame." She shuddered, still unable to voice what she feared he was there for.

He stepped back, letting his hand fall back to his side as he looked at her incredulously. "See, that's the problem with dames like you. No self confidence." He fished around in his jeans pockets, exaggerating his annoyance at not finding what he was looking for. Then his face lit up theatrically, he motioned for her to give him a second and brandished a pocket knife from his back pocket. "Which I don't get, Em," he closed the distance between them again, except this time he placed the sharp edge of the knife against her bare neck, "you're a real _slice_." He guffawed, accentuating his joke by pushing the knife deep into her prone skin until she could feel blood trickling down. She bit her bottom lip harshly, not wanting to gasp or show any sign of distress.

"Jack, please, I don't know why you're here," he dug the knife in a bit deeper, "I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE HERE." Her hands rose up against his chest and she pushed as hard as she could. He stumbled back a little, looking exasperated. She didn't bother looking at him; too busy placing a hand over her wound and brushing past him to the kitchen. Her shaking hands grabbed a dishtowel from the refrigerator handle and running hot water on it over the sink. Too frustrated to look back at him, she didn't notice how he raised his hands up in exasperation to an audience that wasn't there. After cleaning her wound to the best of her ability (it was just a small cut anyhow), she turned back to her intruder. His hands were crossed tightly across his chest and his foot was tapping at a measured pace.

"Done?" he said, head stooping low with an almost confused look on his face. She nodded, unsure of what to do. "Just a _teensy_ stab and we have to take a break!" he began mumbling incoherently as he strolled over to her yet again. "How am I gonna pick up where I left off?" "Where did I leave off?" He made a stabbing motion. "Yeah, about there." "Can't do _that_ again though, can I?" He looked at her finally. "Okay, let's just throw the whole _script_ out, dollface." His eyes lowered slightly. "I've never had anyone _dismiss_ me when I had a knife in 'em. So, this is new territory for me. Usually they go a little _slack_, and I feel a little guilty about _demanding_ so much attention while, ya know, they're right in the middle of _dying_." He jabbed the knife at her, a smile appearing on his gnarled lips. "You got _spunk_ kid, didn't think ya did. But we both know why I'm here. We're here because a little birdy," he points the knife in her direction again, "seemed a little... _squeamish_ to old Jackjack today. Now now, we can't have that, can we?" Her eyes were locked on his, but she made no sign of understanding or agreeance. This seemed to upset him a bit. " Can. We?" he said, sharper this time. She nods. "Good girl. Good girl."

"I've got plans, kid." He gestured in a wide arc through the air, as if she can see his plans forming. "And I don't need anyone looking at Jackjack like he's some _psychopath_." Emma let a sardonic laugh escape and immediately placed a hand over her mouth. He glared at her; all sense of showmanship gone. "Not exactly the best manners from a hostess, Em." She could see him trying to make a joke, but there was still a tenseness in his shoulders that wouldn't relax. He took a step back.

"How long have you known?" he asks, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question. His fingers expertly twirled the knife in his hands over and over again, but his eyes never left hers. She wants to play dumb, ask him what she's supposed to know, but she's already tried the thin line that is his patience too much.

"The video." She says quietly, knowing full well that he'd know what she meant. Everyone knows the video that he gave to GNN by heart.

"Ahhh, well I guess that's _partly_ my fault. I have a somewhat _memorable_ face." He smiled, and she could tell it was only to accentuate the scars that marred his face. "We're going to keep this on the _hush hush_. Aren't we?" He waits for her to nod. "Can't have any _unplanned_ visits from our _boys_ in blue, Em?" She nods again and he seems pleased. He's staring at her intently now, head cocking to the side once more. He places a finger on a scarred cheek and gently taps on it. "But you caught on pretty quick, Emma. Didn't you?" He moved in closer. "Been paying attention to _dear_ old Jack?" Closer still. "Admiring from afar?" Her breath hitched in her throat. Being so close to such a volatile psychopath with a brandished knife made every instinct within her rage to be heard. She tries to push him back again, but he stands stock still. "Easy now, _beautiful_." He grinned at her, a wild look in his eyes. A step closer. Her hand falls from him. "Let's not get too ahead of ourselves. I'm _not_ that type of girl." Another step closer, to the point where Emma's heart began beating erratically and she was once again having trouble with the concept of breathing. "Though I'll admit it's been a _lonely_ two years and a little _attention_ goes a loooong way," his voice become lower, rougher. He idly placed a hand on the counter behind her, leaning into her again. "Arkham is quite a _boring_ place, doll. What I wouldn't do for a _little_ excitement to really get me in the swing of things again." But there was something off about the way he talked, as if scaring her was a great deal of fun and that was all. She had a feeling that he was only hinting at this to make her uneasy: all threat, no delivery. The girl exhaled slowly.

"But I think we're both a little worn down from all the _threats_ and chit chat," she manages to say, staring straight into his chest rather than look at his face. Emma places a hand on said chest and pushes him back, he complies this time.

"You're right," he smiles widely, "don't want to give you the wrong impression. I'll wait until a _second_ date before I share the good stuff."

Emma shuffled her bare feet uncomfortably, looking down. Her head was starting to pound from the sheer stress of having him near and her skin crawled. Even though she'd pushed him away, he still felt too close and she longed for him to leave her to whatever emotional turmoil she'd find herself in once he left. For that moment, however, she tried to remain closed off from the panic.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" she answers blankly, dragging her eyes up to look into his face.

"Well, _walk_ me to my door."

* * *

She woke up with a jolt, body tense and her lungs gasping for breath. Her brown eyes flicked to the alarm clock that lay on top of the pillow next to her: five in the morning. _God_. She'd been unable to stay asleep for more than thirty minutes at a time, her mind kept tricking her into thinking there was a creak in the hallway, or a sharp jab against her tender neck. He didn't come back. She knew he wouldn't. A part of her wanted to run, and another part of her wondered where she'd run off to. It wasn't as if she had money to throw at a new apartment, or any real friends who would take her in. She could go to the police, but what good could they really do against him? They'd put him back in Arkham- where he'd literally just escaped from. Then he'd know the person that ratted him out: her. Then it wouldn't be idle threats and a small cut for fun in the middle of some playful banter. It'd be a grotesque murder that she knew he was capable of. Batman was the only one who could take the madman down- and he'd disappeared.

Besides, what was so bad about complying to his request? Keep quiet. That's it. Nothing else. What had she been doing for the past two years? Sure, she'd been on the precipice of fully accepting Jack and the Joker as the same person. But had it really been that different? _Yeah, last time he was killing people and I said nothing._ She wondered just how long it'd take for him to start his hobbies again. He'd spent his first day out threatening her, which seemed kind of tame compared to his previous exploits. He said he'd had "big plans." What does that entail? Does that mean he's picking up where's he's left off? If so, why does it matter what anyone thinks of Jack? _Maybe he wants to start over_, she thought. _Maybe I'm thinking on the bright side to feel like less of a coward._ She decided that the latter was more likely.

Either way, she needed to get up. She knew she couldn't sleep- and she sure as hell couldn't stay in her apartment all day with him just across the hall. He was erratic and violent. Could she really say that she'd reassured him last night? Besides, what would make more sense to him? Threaten a girl into silence, or kill her? But then again she was his neighbor. What would bring cops running quicker than a dead body? And her disappearance would raise questions. Sure, she didn't have many friends, but Ms. Johnson would notice her absence. Elton would notice her absence; she's never missed a day of work in three years. She wasn't some random victim, she was closer to him than any of his previous targets. But still, Emma wondered if that made her safer or in that much more danger.

Her head pounding with excess thoughts and half-way assumptions; she rubbed her temples roughly, breathed in, breathed out, then got out of bed. She didn't have work until seven, unfortunately. So she took a short shower- wary of a spike in her water bill. She placed her long brown hair into a tight bun, put on pair of jeans and a loose shirt, placed her laundry pile into an empty laundry basket, and walked towards her door. There, she had a brief moment of panic. Would he burst out of his apartment, knife in hand? Would he hear her? Would he think she was trying to sneak out and go to the police? But she had to leave her apartment sometime. So, she unlocked the door and stepped out in the hallway. She made sure to lock the door, so he wouldn't be able to be waiting for her when she got back. Her breathing had stopped completely as she took a few tentative steps towards the stairs. The floorboard creaked, she winced. Nothing. _Maybe he's asleep._ She exhaled, trying to relax her body. Complete silence, she was overreacting.

**SLAM!** Something large hit the wall just beside her. She jumped and let out a muffled scream from behind her hands, dropping her laundry basket in the process. Her body refused to move. Then an ecstatic laughter came from behind the wall, guffawing and obnoxious.

"Ho ho _hee hee_ **haw haw**"

* * *

She arrived to work early and a little worse for wear. Elton said nothing, she assumed he thought she was still panicked about the escaped felons. He was right in a way- but it was a tad more specific. A tad more personal. A tad more life-threatening. But she delved into her work, grateful for the first time that it was a very busy Saturday.

It was almost strange how calm she felt compared to the day before. She'd been on edge, playing scenarios in her head over and over. But now, she was calmer. Still a little frazzled, but visibly less frightened. The girl kept contemplating this change in her. Wouldn't it make sense to be more afraid _after_ being threatened at knifepoint by a madman? But now that the moment had passed, now that he'd made his intentions somewhat clear, she felt a little freer. _Fear of the unknown_, she guessed, shrugging to herself in the pantry while trying to look for instant coffee. Right now- the danger was tangible. And, sure, her hands still shook and her heart still skipped beats when she thought of heading back home tonight, but she knew what was waiting for her and what it wanted. She'd been given a clear rule to remaining on his good side- be quiet. And Emma was anything if not a survivalist. She'd stay quiet, she decided. She'd play nice in front of people. She'd do as he said until he'd write her off as a non-threat.

* * *

A/N: Hello! Just wanted to put up a warning that I haven't really worked out a schedule for how I'm going to dish these out, or even how long I'm going to make this particular fic. Also, also. I'm a little worried about characterization of Joker- as I think everyone who reads or writes Joker fanfic is. Suggestions are welcome!


	3. About Fair

Chapter Three: About Fair

What followed was a week of silence. Nothing. No visits from the madman across the hall at nine thirty at night. No slamming against the wall when she went to work or came home. Nothing. Emma couldn't understand, and the thoughts flitting through her mind of various reasons and explanations stopped her from learning to appreciate his absence. She was just on edge again, waiting for him to reappear.

The girl was almost sure that he had moved on but, just like old times, he'd leave every night at eleven thirty. His door would creak open. His loud footsteps would reverberate through the wall. It took her three days before she noticed that she'd wait every night to hear him leave. Trying to fall asleep before eleven thirty was impossible; she was on edge. But, by eleven thirty-five, she would be asleep under a mass of blankets- her body finally relaxing enough to let her completely slip into dreams. Yes, she still wondered where he went off to. What he was doing. Why he wasn't harassing her. Whether he was hurting anyone. Well, she didn't wonder too long on that.

A part of her wanted him to burst into her apartment again, making jokes and threatening. Then, at least, she could know where she stood. Was she still a threat? Or had he completely forgotten about her.

These nagging thoughts pervaded her mind as she walked to work Friday morning. She kept her head down beneath her hood; the ill-fitting hoodie an attempt to draw attention away from her obnoxiously bright uniform. Not wanting the chance to be bothered by any fellow pedestrians, she walked hurriedly to the diner, arriving within a few minutes. The front was unlocked, which meant Elton was already there. A deduction that quite literally meant nothing as his blonde head had popped out from the back already. He smiled and waved. She made a noncommittal noise not unlike a grunt and made her way to join him, taking off her hoodie.

"Hey Em!" Elton's voice called out before she could even reach her destination.

She said nothing back until she opened the door separating the diner from the back room. "Hey." He gave her another smile that she tried to return.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Emma leaned against the doorway, letting him go on. He didn't; making a few moments of awkward staring between the two. "Okay," she finally said after the silence had gotten to be too much for her.

He smiled again. Or he hadn't stopped smiling, she couldn't tell. "Well, I know it's been kind of a scary week," he stated inanely, "what with the escapes. Living in such a big city can be pretty... daunting." He waited for a response, so she nodded slowly. "And I know you've been here for a while, but still it's a pretty big adjustment to make." She tried very hard not to roll her eyes. "You just seem to be a little anxious lately." Her gaze flickered to the floor; she hadn't thought that she had been so transparent with her thoughts and a part of her was embarrassed that anyone had noticed. Elton was looking at her sympathetically, and she hated it. He moved closer to her and patted her shoulder reassuringly. "Tell you what, why don't I start walking you home?" Her eyes flicked back to stare at him.

"That's not really necessary, Elton." She shrugged her shoulders pointedly; his hand fell to his side again. "I wouldn't want to be a nuisance," she explained, moving towards the staff lockers. Her jacket and bag soon safely stowed within her locker, she turned back to him. "I'm more than capable of-"

"I know you're capable, Em! I'm not saying that you aren't." He placed his hands up defensively, and she couldn't help but give him a small smile. Elton, being Elton, took this as leeway to continue. "I'm just saying that... well, _I'd_ feel better if I knew you were getting home alright."

"I'm getting home just fine." The edge in her voice is apparent, but his face falls a fraction and she decides to soften it. "But... if you insist." Then, when the smile is back, she excuses herself from the room to start taking down chairs.

The day moves quickly from there, especially for a Friday. There are no mishaps, or really any noteworthy moments. She spends most of her workday with her eyes glued to the television, waiting for some sign of Joker. But, nothing. Well, of course they still flashed his picture every now and then, but no new catastrophe that could be attributed to her semi-psychotic neighbor. She doesn't know whether to feel good or bad about this. Either he was _actually_ doing nothing at all that warranted media attention or he was planning something so grandiose that it would need more time. A part of her was irked. The biggest villain Gotham had ever seen had escaped and the only thing that had changed was that she now kept a baseball bat by her bed. Not that she wanted to hear a news story of him blowing up a school bus, but she felt that the longer he was quiet the bigger whatever he had planned would be.

"Ready?"

Emma started, swiveling her head to stare blankly at her boss. A few seconds past before she fully came back into her own mind. "Oh... yeah, I'm ready. Sorry." He gave her a smile accompanied by a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Maybe you should stop watching the news."

She ignored the comment and jumped down from the stool she'd been sitting on. He handed her jacket and bag to her. "Thanks," she said, though she was annoyed that he'd touched her things. It was such a very Elton thing to do. Kindness, but overbearingly so. To the point where it wasn't even kindness in her eyes, just overbearingness.

The walk home was awkward. She'd never been around Elton for such a long period of time with nothing else to occupy them. Emma was slowly realizing that she didn't know much about the man walking next to her. He was maybe ten years older than her, he owned a diner, he was almost obnoxiously kind. Those were all the things she'd ascertained in her past three years under his employment. She doubted that she could even name an interest of his that they'd ever talked about. Then she began to absently wonder if he even had an interests. He opened his mouth, probably in an attempt to stop the increasingly uncomfortable silence, but shut it as she began to fish her keys out of her bag.

"Thanks again," she says, not looking up from her bag.

"No, no it's fine, dollface." The familiar phrase makes her freeze mid-search for a brief moment.

"See you, Elton."

* * *

She was woken by a door slamming nearby. Her eyes flicked to the clock beside her: 1:30am. She'd never heard him come home before and didn't really know what to do with the information. All she knew know was she was not going to be able to sleep now that he was around once more. It was strange how the girl had become accustomed to their little schedule, relying on it and relaxing slightly in it. Now that he'd broken the schedule, she couldn't help a weird feeling of resentment towards him. Why was he only gone for two hours? What was he doing back at his apartment?

"Oh _Emmaaaaa._"

_Her_ apartment.

_Fuck fuck fuck_, were the only words reverberating in her head as she jumped from her bed. _Oh god_, soon replaced it. She looked at her window a little longingly, wondering what exactly a four-story drop does to a body. A normal response, really, but she knew that she'd have to go out and meet him. So, she did just that.

He was there again, leaning against the front door. Lazy predator once again, but with a slightly different look in his eye. He was dressed in his oversized purple suit this time; leather gloves and painted face included. She was taken aback by this, and her mouth made an opening/closing motion. The sense of panic she was feeling doubled because of his appearance. Jack, her semi-psychotic neighbor, she could handle. But this? This made the situation much more real. He was the _Joker_. The man who brought this city to it's knees just two years ago. What could she really do against him?

"I _must_ admit, I'm a little,er, ... _disappointed._" The sickly sweet voice he used made her skin crawl. "See, I got all _dolled_ up," he gestures at his makeup heavy face, "and _you_? Well, not so much." He made a lazy motion towards her, in a very oversized and somewhat ragged t shirt. "Now I don't _expect_ a lot. But a little bit of _presentation_ goes a long way, Em. I mean, it's just our _second_ date and you're letting yourself go."

A heavy silence followed, the two staring at each other.

"Not so _vocal_ today, huh?" He started moving towards her, pushing off the wall in that way he did, but she noticed a change in the way he walked. The pace was measured, not as fluid or as violent as she'd seen before, and he kept one shoulder slightly higher than the other. Her brow furrowed, but she made no other change in demeanor. "Thought you'd gotten _rid_ of old Jackjack, didn't you?" His voice was still mockingly light-hearted, as if this was a grand game to him. Which, she knew, it was.

The closing proximity between them woke her anxiety. "I haven't told anyone."

He stops and places a hand over his heart. "I'm not _accusing_ you of anything. What do you think of me! That's I'm some _erratic_ guy who doesn't _trust_ you? Showing up here with _demands_." He continues walking now, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. "Of course I trust you. Know why?" He looks at her expectantly, a strange smile on his marred face.

"Because you'll kill me if you can't," she says blankly. His smile grows wider and his eyes dilate.

"You _do_ catch on quick."

"So what are you doing here?" She crosses her arms over her chest, trying her best to look defiant instead of fearful.

"Can't I just come _see_ you every now and then? I _do_ live just across the hall, you know, and I can't _wait_ around for you to make a move." He looks exasperated, but she sees a pained expression flick across his face that has nothing to do with his words. "You didn't even _call_. I'm not exactly _patient_, Em. And I thought we had a _real_ connection," his eyes look to her collarbone at the light pink scar that's formed.

She catches the joke, but ignores it. Her eyes begin going over his form, looking for the injury she's know sure he has. It's hard to tell with his oversized jacket blocking her view and she makes a motion that gently opens a lapel. He freezes, and she thinks she can see a quick flash of fear in his eyes. But she brushes it off as a trick of light. He takes a step back, but she's already seen the angry red patch on his inner shirt.

"What happened?"

She was surprised that he was at a loss for words and she could tell that he was too. _Truth, joke? Truth, joke?_ she imagined playing out in his head and stifled a laugh.

"_Hard_ day's work." He landed somewhere in between the two. "Hard to find decent help these days. Dent Act's got the criminals in this town acting a little _crazy_." He stopped to look at her scrutinizingly for a moment. "And not my kind of crazy."

"What a shame," she stated.

His head turned a fraction, but he just smiled. "Maroni's dead and there's quite a _scuffle_ to see who turns out to be _top_ dog. I suggested we all come together, and stop all the _pointless_ bickering and _fighting_. We're all part of the big criminal _family_, aren't we?" He looked to her, as if looking for affirmation. She grants a nod. "And- well, I suggested a _merger_ of sorts, which turned into a bit of a _hostile_ takeover." He smiled again. "Things got a little _stabby_. And, wouldn't you know, I got a bit of my own medicine tonight." He let his jacket slip off, showcasing the red stain on his shoulder that had grown a fraction since she saw it last. He frowned, but his scars made it look like he was still smiling. "_Boy_, is it **_bitter_**."

"Sit down," she gestured at the couch. Not bothering to gauge his reaction, she walked to the kitchen. He doesn't move, and she wanted to look back to see if she's crossed a line, but decided against it. After she's grabbed a towel, she made her way to her bedroom to get to the connected bathroom. Emma flicked the light on and pointedly ignored her reflection, especially the slight darkening under her eyes. She dug through her medicine cabinet. She has half a bottle of alcohol, she grabbed it and flicked the light back off. He was on her bed, laid back, staring at her ceiling. Her mouth opened and closed again in surprise, a small amount of fear bubbled up. She said nothing, not wanting to give him an opportunity to make a lewd joke or threat. Instead, she went through her closet and ripped a ragged t shirt from a hanger. Unsure of what to do now, her hands full of supplies. "Um," she dumped the makeshift medical kit onto her bed.

He sat up, head lolling back dramatically then snapping into an upright position. "About time, _doc_." He held his wound, his face a caricature of pain. Or he was really in that much pain, she couldn't tell. "I'm _bleeding_ out over here."

Her eyes flick behind him to her covers, a few smears of blood stood out against the white sheet. "You bled on my bed."

"Sorry, it's my _first_ time," he dropped the pained act immediately. She looked away from him, grabbing the alcohol bottle and unscrewing the cap. She then instructed him to take off his vest and shirt, anticipating another lewd joke. None comes, he makes no move to aquiesce to her orders. She picks up the towel and looked at him, expressionless.

"Shirt."

He looked from her to her wound, and she knew he was weighing the options carefully. After what seems like an eternity, he started unbuttoning. Her eyes divert from him to her clock, and she inwardly cursed at him. _Is this how it's going to be from now on?_ she asked herself. _He's going to appear in the middle of the night for no reason. Purely just to put me on edge, it seems. And what? I'm going to take care of him? I'm going to sew him back up so he could go on killing mobsters and do whatever else he's been doing for the past week._ A sharp pain erupted in her temple and she winced. The constant turmoil of her thoughts and tenseness of his presene was _literally_ taking a physical toll on her body. He completed his task of removing his shirt finally, so she fixed her gaze completely on the wound. It's not as bad as she thought it was, now that she saw it clearly. Only an inch of open flesh, but the blood was still trickling down. So, she wiped in an upward motion, ignoring the obvious tenseness of him. She poured the clear liquid onto the towel and stamped it against the wound. He grabbed her hand suddenly, she tried to snatch it back from his grip but he just tightened it painfully.

She let out a sharp hiss of pain. "**LET GO**." Her voice cracked as she struggled against his clutch. "You're hurting me."

"_Good._" His voice dangerously low. He glared at her, the inky black makeup around his eyes making his sockets seem hollow. "**You** hurt me, **I** hurt you. Seems _about_ fair." He released her hand and she immediately pulled it away from his wound, rubbing her wrist to alleviate the pain. Red fingers sprawled across her wrist; she knew it would form into a bruise. But, she kept the anger that was forming in check. If there was one thing she didn't want to do, it would be to let out the torrent of curses that were raging inside of her. She clenched and unclenched her hands, trying to work off her temper. She placed the towel against the wound again, more gently this time. He still visibly tensed his muscles, but he made no other movements.

"I'm more _fragile_ than I look is all," he said after a moment. "Just a _warm_, cuddly, _fluffy_ bunny with a few _crucial_ lacerations." He doesn't even seem to be enjoying his jokes at this point, his eyes are locked straight ahead at the bare wall.

She reached for the old t shirt next, ripping long strips of cloth from it. Silence. Complete silence. She couldn't even hear him breathe, and the silence made her more uncomfortable than any of his slightly dark quips could.

Emma finished dressing the wound to the best of her abilities. It was done rather sloppily, but the bleeding had stopped almost entirely. As soon as she stepped back to throw the bloody towel into her laundry basket he worked to get his shirt back on. She noticed for the first time the wide expanse of his chest: riddled with at least five other scars, one particularly long one trailed below his left collar bone. "More hostile takeovers?" she questioned, turning her head slightly.

He stopped buttoning.

Uncomfortable with the silence, she picked up the alcohol bottle and returned it to it's place in the bathroom. When she got back to her room- he had left. She walked to the living room, hoping that he'd gone entirely. To her disappointment, he was leaning against the door. Dressed completely again, the same indifferent but volatile calm had settled over him. It seemed as if nothing had changed. Well, it hadn't. She'd merely dressed the wound of a known killer who'd been threatening her. An altogether idiotic move on her part, but she had been hoping for... She didn't really know what. A sense of camaraderie? Maybe a small hint of trust or thankfulness that would slacken the leash he'd so callously placed on her. But, if the slowly forming bruise on her wrist proved anything, it was that he was more suspicious of her now than before.

"Well, doll, it's been a _real_ good time. Not exactly how I _imagined_ our first time in the sack going, really." He paused for a moment, looking far off. "I always thought there'd be _more_ blood." Then he looked at her again. "But, hey, you bring out the _gentleman_ in me."

He opened her door then, stepping out in the hallway, but he kept the door open. She could tell what he wanted, but it wasn't until he'd looked at her expectantly that she walked outside with him. The door shut behind her.

"Thanks for everything. It's been a _swell_ time."

"No problem," she said mechanically. _Play along_, if there is anything she learned from their brief encounters, it was that he liked a show.

He opened the door.

"I'd invite you in, but I think we're both a little _worn out_ from the threats and chit-chat." He batted his eyes, and she couldn't suppress a small grin. He returned her grin with a wide one of his own before stepping into his apartment. "Well, next time I'll try and get stuck in the leg so you can get my pants off."

"What a guy," she says, deadpan.

"And to _t__hink_, I came over planning to _kill_ you!" He guffawed, closing the door on her alarmed face.

* * *

A/N: Ah! The feedback is pleasing. More was asked, and more you shall receive.

This chapter was a little hard to write at first, but then Joker comes in and I enjoyed it again. I feel like I kind of had a stumble with his character a bit, just in relation to him being wounded. I kept thinking of that scene in TDK where he compares himself to a dog, chasing after cars. So I imagine him as being kind of like a wounded animal. Meh. I hope that came across. Welp.

I'll go away now.

Oh, and for Petrified Blue: rhino dick.


	4. Something Fierce

Chapter Four: Something Fierce

His words kept repeating in her head over and over. Had it been another one of his slightly twisted jokes? Or had he really meant that he was planning on killing her? If the latter; why? Hadn't she done everything right? Hadn't she kept her mouth shut? It was just a game to him, that's all that she could make sense of his actions. Every damn thing he did was just some sick game. Showing up at her apartment in the middle of the night. His lewd jokes that set her on edge. The only intent that she could possibly understand was that he enjoyed making her squirm. And squirm she did. He hadn't left but an hour ago, and she couldn't sleep. She'd unceremoniously ripped the blood-stained sheet from her bed, and splayed out over her bare mattress. Even without the evidence of his presence, she couldn't sit comfortably in her own room anymore. Every so often she'd turn over, trying to seek the comfort that her bed used to give her, but she couldn't find it. Finally, she decided to go to the other room. She sat on the absolute corner of the couch, tucking her legs to her chest, trying not to slip too deeply into her thoughts. _This is exactly what he wants_, she thought to herself. For her to be up, thinking of what he was going to do next. Scared. He wanted to be feared. That's why he painted his face, that's why he committed acts of violence so randomly. To make everyone in Gotham feel as if they could be next. As if she could be next.

Emma pushed her face into her knees, trying to calm her breathing that was growing more and more sporadic.

She didn't sleep that night.

* * *

A day past in mostly quiet contemplation and frayed nervous. She'd arrived to work to find that she was getting much better at playing calm. The ever-observant Elton said nothing about the almost-bruises forming under her eyes. But he seemed a little more than agitated by the actual bruise that had formed on her wrist. A few patrons looked at her, concerned, but she smiled and made excuses that usually involved various large objects that couldn't help but fall on her hapless wrist. They'd go on eating, accepting her lie, or accepting the fact that she had to lie. The bruise was... glaringly obvious. It also happened to be shaped like a large hand rather than a spare box of books. But, that was the way of the world, wasn't it? People kept to themselves, accepting the lie that had been given to them without batting an eyelash.

Elton, however, wouldn't let it slide. She could feel his eyes trace over her wrist every so often, when she got close enough to him for him to peer. It made her uncomfortable, not from the attention, but from the sheer fact that he'd want to know what happened. And a very small part of her wanted to be able to tell someone, anyone, what was going on. But the larger part of her quelled that weak impulse. What would she do? Endanger Elton? Put him under the direct radar of a knife-wielding psychopath? Even she couldn't be that selfish. As annoying as Elton is, as much as it would make her feel better to confide in someone; she just couldn't. So, she avoided his glances. Avoided his calls, pretended to be frightfully busy. Though, they both knew that it was a rather slow day.

When the last customer left and it was already dark out; that was when she knew she could no longer avoid him. She was in the back already, putting her hoodie on and shoving her arm through the bag's strap, while simultaneously trying to get out of the door.

"Whoa, Em," he appeared in front of the door, encompassing her way out with his broad body. "I'm not ready to go yet."

"What?"

"To walk you home?"

"Oh," she had completely forgotten about their little pact. She looked at the clock quickly, not caring that it seemed like a rude thing to do at the time. They close late on Saturdays, eleven. That's usually late enough to feed the stragglers and just early enough to keep out the more nefarious of Gotham's citizens. Emma, who prided herself on diligence, never really minded the long hours. It wasn't really above-board, since she was working well past what she should be, but she needed the money. Sacrificing free time just didn't matter. But right then, she was cursing the late hour in which she had to work. Quick calculations. It was a ten minute walk at a good pace. Fifteen at Elton's pace.

"I won't take a minute," he said, sensing her apprehension immediately. Various phrases of contempt went through her mind, but she reminded herself that he was her boss.

"It's fine, Elton. I'm in no rush." She lied through her teeth.

Seventeen minutes later, they were walking to her apartment building. She was cursing under her breath, not necessarily at him, but definitely about him. Her pace was fast, faster than usual, and he struggled to keep up. He had longer legs but a relaxed gait. She decided that she hated him for it.

"Something wrong, Em?"

"Nothing," she said, but her jaw was locked.

They arrived at her building at exactly 11:27 and she nearly started running. If she could only get into her apartment in time, then she wouldn't even have to see him. She let out a barely audible goodbye before jumping up the first flight of stairs, but Elton caught her wrist tightly.

"Fuck!" she hissed at him, snatching her arm back aggressively. The already wounded flesh felt as if it was pulsating from the pressure he'd placed on it.

"Oh, shit, I'm so sorry. Oh gosh, Em. I'm really-"

"It's fine, Elton. Just, you know, hands at your sides from now on." She attempted a smile, but the impending meeting of Jack and the pain shooting through her arm were now combining to make her a little more than irritable.

"Can I ask what happened?" his gaze lowered to her wrist, his facial expression that of pity or something akin to it.

"Box fell." She looked towards the front doors of her building, tensening.

"Come on, Emma. Don't lie."

She looked back at him incredulously, her eyes lowered. "It's been really _swell_, Elton, thanks for the walk home." She turned to walk up the steps to the building, but stopped as she saw a tall figure approaching. A part of her wanted to turn around and walk away, but Elton was behind her. _Rock and a hard place._

"**EM**," Elton's voice had gone hard behind her, but she didn't bother to look back at him. Jack was coming closer; his presence making her physically incapable of breathing.

He was wearing the same white t shirt and ragged jeans that he did when he first broke into her apartment. One alteration; a backpack. She's expecting horrible outcomes, she's expecting Elton to become a doubled over body in an alleyway somewhere. She's expecting a similar, yet more grisly, fate for her.

He just walked past them. He didn't even look at her. His dark eyes had skimmed over Elton for a moment, but then he returned his gaze to a fixed point ahead of him and walked on. As if he didn't recognize the girl he's been threatening for the past week. Her mouth had dropped open as she looked at his tall frame slowly shrink in the distance. She noticed Elton shudder in her peripheral vision, but again didn't bother to look at him. "You need to move out of this place, Emma. With freaks like that-" He was obviously referring to Jack's scars, which annoyed her in a way. Sure, he was a psychotic madman who would probably attack her for fun within a few days time, but the fact that Elton didn't know this about him and dismissed him entirely based on his scars- it irked her.

"Again, Elton. It's been _swell_." She walked up the stairs.

* * *

She knew it was coming before it happened. She didn't even bother sleeping. She showered, she ate a bowl of cereal, she picked up a book from her long forgotten stack.

He knocked on the door at one in the morning, which startled her. She'd expected him to come in the usual way- whatever the usual way was for him. The formality of a knock seemed to go against everything she'd gleaned of his character so far. Then again, she hadn't gleaned much and he had a way of proving all of her assumptions false. After a moment of staring at the door; she dog-eared her book and rose from her couch. He knocked again, louder this time.

"Oh, Emma, Em, doll, dollface, doc," he mashed his nicknames for her together. "_Whoever_ you are at the moment."

"What do you want, Jack?" she attempted to sound annoyed, pretending that he'd woken her up.

"Isn't it obvious? I _knocked_ like a gentleman, now **open**. **the**. **door**." There was no playful lilt, she recognized. This was an order, which ironically made her want to do just the opposite of his suggestion.

"It's late, Jack. Let's save the banter for tomorrow? I'm off; you can cut and bruise me all you want." Her joke wasn't met with a laugh, like she had expected. No creepy retort, gleefully dished out by the madman. It was met with an uncharacteristic silence. Then a thump against the door.

"Now you _gotta_ let me in, sweet-cheeks. You can't say something like that and not let me in. That's _downright_ cruel."

"Jack..." her bravery was slowly wilting against his reaction.

"I know it was a joke. No need to worry your _pretty_, little, _detachable_ head over it. But I'd suggest you let me in before I'm **forced** to take you up on the offer."

Her hand paused over the lock for the briefest of moments before she turned it. He, however, didn't pause. Once he heard the click, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. She stumbled back to avoid being hit. Jack came in, shoulders slumped forward. She could tell that he'd been wearing his paint again, it was gone now, but there were traces of it: the area around his eyes was grimier, a faded pink smile silhouetted the lower half of his face. His eyes darted around the room, as if assessing everything for the first time. Her own gaze followed his around the room- nothing had changed since he'd last been here. She was confused by his continued lingering.

"What is it today, Jack? Want me to clean a wound or do you want to give me one?" she sat back on the couch, rubbing her temples forcefully. Mentally preparing for this situation and experiencing it were two very disjointed things. She wished that he would just make a decision whether to kill her or leave her alone. Well, that was a bitter thought that crossed her mind, but she sincerely wished for the latter.

"Nothing so very _crude_, Em. I know you're a _busy_ gal." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I'm a busy fella, you know? I don't have the _time_ for this."

Her head tilted. "Time for what? Bursting into my apartment at night? By all means," she gestured towards the door.

His body rushed at her, grabbing her chin painfully, and tilting her head to look at him. The height difference made him push her head back harshly, to the point where she let out a small gasp of pain.

"J-jack, s-stop," she wasn't bothering to hide the terror in her voice. His grip was crushing and sharp tears were stinging at her eyes.

"See- I thought we were kind of going steady, dollface. Now I know I'm _sentimental_-" his grip tightened a fraction- "kind of an _old-fashioned_ guy, if I do say so myself. I just figured that meant, you know, a certain level of **faithfulness**."

The tears were flowing down her face, she struggled against his vice-like grip, fingernails clawed at his hand mercilessly.

"I- I don't know what you're **saying**," a mixture of fear and anger erupted through her. Then a torrent of explanations. "He-he's my boss. Just my boss. He's just walking me home. He insisted. It's only been for the past two days. I don't even want him to."

He let go immediately. "You don't _want_ him to? Well, you _gotta_ learn to stand up for yourself, _kid_." He grinned manically at her. The pain in her face was dull, but bruisingly so. Her body curled into itself, she tucked her legs into her and hugged them tightly, trying to get as far away from him as possible. This all went seemingly unnoticed by him. "You set this fella down and say 'Listen here, guy-' wait, what's his name?" He looked down at her, finally. "Why're you crying, _doll_?" He made a motion to put a finger under her chin, but she shot back quickly to avoid his contact.

Her crying continued: no matter the amount of effort she placed in steadying her breathing or stopping her tears. It wasn't necessarily the pain that brought it on, the fear was a small part of it as well, it was the utter helplessness that she felt at that moment. It had caught her off guard, and she felt weak. A feeling she detested more than the she detested him for instilling it in her. In all honestly, she was mad at herself for letting herself cry, which only brought on more tears. If she could choose one clear, identifiable emotion; it would be frustration.

He was looking down at her, confused. His brows furrowed, his misshapen mouth stuck in a pout. His hands shot up, but didn't touch her, he made movements a good inch from her skin as if trying to fix an invisible break from a distance. Jack finally sat down on the couch next to her, slumping down as if giving up entirely in the situation.

"Why-why do you care?" she choked out finally, her breathing had calmed, but silent tears continued to fall.

He looked at her for a moment, brow still furrowed. He slipped off the couch, dropping on his knees in front of her. "Oh, doll doll doll doll doll _doll_," he made hushing noises, pursing his lips the way someone might talk to a dog they'd accidentally kicked. His scars however made it more grotesque, a sick caricature of a comforting gesture that made her want to edge away from him. "I _care_ because you're my favorite toy."

"Why?" her tears had stopped, she looked deep into his eyes searching for a reason or rhyme to his behavior.

"Well, you're right across the hall. I can _stumble_ in when I please. The _pretty_ little thing that lives right across from me. Think I never noticed that face of yours?" His hand traced over her cheek, almost lovingly, but still harsh. "Well, I did. And you, _you_, you noticed me, doll." She inhaled deeply, trying to avert her gaze from his stifling one. "And you just look so _cute_ when you think I'm gonna kill you." He pats her face a little harshly, then smacked his jowls; accentuating the noise his cheeks made when he did this.

A moment passed in which his hand stayed in it's place over her cheek. It was calloused, but warm. Unwelcome. She flinched away from it. This seemed to upset him, because he grabbed her face again. Not nearly as hard as last time, it was almost gentle.

"You're my favorite toy, _see_? I can bang you up something **_fierce_**. But if some other kid wants to play, too?" He looks at her, dead calm. "I _bury_ them in the sandbox." A laugh erupts from him, small at first. Then he's laughing uncontrollably, hands pressed against the sides of his stomach theatrically.

Then the laughter stops.

"_Now_, what's his name?"

* * *

A/N: Maniacal laughter, maniacal laughter.

I'm glad you guys are enjoying it! I'll keep churning them out as quickly as possible. :)

It's also technically one in the morning where I'm at, so this doesn't count as two chapters in one day.

But if I was being completely honest- that is exactly what it is.

I just can't seem to stay away from this story for very long.


	5. Unless You Ask

Chapter Five: Unless You Ask

He'd disappeared soon after getting Elton's name out of, leaving Emma in such a fit of fear that she could barely move. Fear, and guilt. She'd just handed over her boss to a madman. Her boss who had seemed to care about her. Yes, in an overbearing, almost nauseating, way. But, still, he had done nothing to deserve... whatever it was that Joker was going to do to him. _If Joker was going to do anything to him_, she told herself. But she knew that she was being idiotic; was there any other point of him making such a show? Just to make her quake, possibly, but he didn't need to threaten her friends to do that. His mere presence... well, his threats. His threats to her could do the trick.

Despite the guilt raging within her, her eyes began to droop. She still sat, cocooned within herself on the couch, head lolling forward every so often until it finally rested upon her knees. Then her body slackened, and she was met by peaceful sleep.

* * *

Her day was spent in the general lackluster of her usual days off. Once she grew too anxious to stay at home, she decided to go to the grocery store to replenish her dwindling reserves. When she got home, she put away the groceries, cleaned the apartment, rounded up her laundry, and went to the basement to wash them. Then she read for an hour. Another hour past in which she stared at the door, biting the insides of her mouth barbarically. It was this sharp pain that snapped her out of her mind. So, at about two in the afternoon she finally realized the level of anxiety that was building within her.

This realization only seemed to make the feeling grow. She spent the next hour pacing by the door waiting for any signs of life from the hallway. When none came, she opened her door and stepped out into it. Her wary eyes looked down both sides of the hallway before resting on his door. _Was this really a good idea?_ Every neuron within her brain seemed to be firing off suggestions. She could rationalize letting him come into her apartment, she could rationalize not fighting back. She could rationalize it for her own safety. But could she rationalize _going_ to him? The bigger question was; could she really let any harm come to Elton without trying to convince him otherwise? The girl knew- without a doubt- that she could do nothing to change the Joker's mind. But couldn't she try? They'd developed a sort of repertoire, hadn't they? A relationship. Albeit, an emotionally and physically destructive one. She could plead and play along and she could bargain. The defeatist in her told her that it wouldn't change a thing, but a much larger part of her wondered if she could really live with herself if she didn't at least try.

She knocked.

Nothing.

She pressed her ear against the door.

Nothing. No noise came from the depths. No sign of psychotic, cackling, life that would mean he was home. Her muscles relaxed a decimal and she released a breath that she hadn't known she was holding. He wasn't home. Her brow furrowed. He was always home during the day. Or, she had always assumed that he just slept all day after completing whatever he did at night. She knocked again, frustration building. The amount of courage that had built within her utterly useless. She'd geared up for battle, and now she'd found that her opponent hadn't even bothered to show up. No signs of life again. Her hand touched the doorknob tentatively. _Could it really hurt to take a quick peak?_ Yes, she knew. _It could hurt quite a bit_, she thought as her other hand reached up to touch her still sore neck.

But it didn't matter, the doorknob turned within her grasp and was ripped from her harshly. Jack's scarred face met hers. No makeup, wearing just his ratty pair of jeans. It seemed like he'd just gotten out of the shower, as his moss-colored hair hung damp against his face. His stoic face.

"What d'you want, doll?" he said. But it wasn't a voice she could recognize. It was neither his psychotic lilt or his rage-filled scream. It was indifferent, almost cold.

She stuttered, thrown off balance by his attitude. The girl had never seen him so... out of character. She couldn't help but feel almost threatened by this change in demeanor. As if this was some new threat, and not the Jack that she had grown somewhat accustomed to.

"**WHAT?**" he booms at her.

"I just want to talk," her voice was quiet. Something in him has changed so drastically, she couldn't even be bothered to play brave.

He leered at her; dark eyes squinting hard as he assessed her face for what seemed like an eternity. His large hand released the door handle, and he moved his body to make room for her to come in. One of her feet stepped forward automatically, but she paused before she could cross the threshold. He grunted, patience wearing thin and grabbed her harshly by the arm. He pulled her in, slamming the door behind her.

His apartment was the same as hers, except flipped. And bare. There were no tables, no couch, there wasn't one dish in his sink. It could have been that he hadn't had the time to refurbish the place in his brief time back, but then she couldn't really imagine him at a furniture store. Or a grocery store, for the matter. And, to prove her point, she looked over to his bare kitchen. The one definable difference between his apartment and an apartment never rented out before was the floor, every inch of it was covered with various papers that her eyes couldn't make sense of from a distance. Newspapers, blueprints, pictures. He'd been busy, and she knew in that moment that he had no intention of staying quiet as Jack. Something big was coming, and she didn't know if she wanted to be around to watch the disaster happen.

He let out a noise not unlike a growl, which made her body jerk around to face him again. His long arms made a ta-da gesture and, despite the cheesy grin on his face, she couldn't help but notice that his movements were jerky, uncoordinated.

"Emma, Emma, _Emma_," his tone was malicious, dripping with unrepressed rage. "Seems like you just _can't_ get enough of old Jackjack."

"Did you hurt him?" she managed to say. The smile left his face and again she could see annoyance.

"You are _quite_ the little masochist, dollface."

"Jack-"

"No no no no **NO**. Jack doesn't _want_ to come out and play with Emma right now," he clenched and unclenched his hand, and she wondered if he possibly had a knife on him. "Jack's a _little_ busy and would like to enjoy some well deserved _solitude_. See, I had a _busy_ night." His body inched closer to her, eyes glinting cruelly as her own body stiffened. "Got home from a _loooong_ day at work, spent some time with my _girl_. Then, oh, you know, went out on the town. Painted it _red_."

The meaning in his words weren't lost on her. She felt faint and she could feel bile rising up in her throat. Elton was dead, and it was her fault. The pity and guilt were physically weighing down on her.

Her small form pushed past him, careening towards the door. But, he grabbed her again, making her twist her own arm painfully trying to break free from his grasp. As usual, his strength won out against her, stopping her completely in her tracks.

"**YOU** wanted to play, doll. You can't just call it _quits_ when you get a little, hm, _riled_ up." His grip tightened as he twist her around so that she was facing him again; he pushed her against the door. The knob rammed painfully into her back, making her wince. "It's not my fault that I like to play rough, hm? And you're just, oh so, _delightfully_ breakable." His face was at level with hers, shoulders slumping downward to hold their eye contact. "You're a good toy, Em. But don't think I won't _throw_ you out just 'cause you're _sweet_ on me." Her eyes looked down to his scarred chest, avoiding his gaze.

A moment passed in which both of them said nothing. He just scanned her face over and over as she looked at his scars.

"See, it doesn't _matter_. Not really. You're pretending you care about little old Elroy. Eliot. Elton." His head tilted back and forth between words and a strange smile played upon his tarnished lips. "But you _don't_. I know my doll, and my doll don't _care_." He sang out. "You feel _guilty_, sure. And you should. You _really_ should." Mock sympathy contorted his face his already contorted face. "Because you're the one who brought that poor _sap_ here. Then, when it was high time, you _saaaang_ his name like the little bird you are."

Her eyes were still lowered, looking at his chest, glazing over slightly as he talked. She knew he was partly right. Emma had said his name almost immediately, not bothering to think of the ramifications. Out of what? A misplaced idea that she could protect herself from him? There was no way to protect herself from him, he was a force of nature. A thunderstorm railing against her, torrents of him knocking her down again and again. So, she'd done as he asked, she'd imparted information that surely meant something horrible for Elton and she'd felt horrible. Yet, she knew that what drew her here, what was racking her conscience, was the guilt and the guilt alone. No debt to Elton, no genuine concern for his safety.

"Oh, doll," his hand lightly tilted her head up to look at him. "I didn't touch your precious _little_ squeeeeeeeze." His face a mere inch from her, his mouth accentuating each vowel harshly, she could feel his breath against her. "I have _things_ to do. Much _bigger_ things to do than to deny my toy, er,... _her_ little toys."

A mixture of relief and fear ran through her body. Relief that Elton wasn't dead on her account and the fear that always came when he came too close. Her head twisted in an attempt to leave his grasp, but he tightened it further, not allowing any deviance from his severe gaze.

"Oh, dollface. I can _tell_ you're disappointed. _I'm_ disappointed in myself. See, I saw him _grabbing_ at ya. He left that little bruise," he looked down at the bruise he gave her just two nights before.

"**You did that**," she stated, tone hard, glaring at him with revulsion.

He just let out an insane bout of laughter. "Ohohoh. That _was_ me, wasn't it? Must've _slipped_ my mind." His other hand reached down, grabbing her wrist so that his long fingers formed with the bruised flesh. "Left my mark, didn't I?" he said lowly, letting his eyes trail up her body to rest on her face.

A moment passed with her under his scrutiny. She made no further attempts to free herself from, now, the clutches of both his hands.

"I saw him grabbing at you."

"He was just trying to talk to me."

"_Talk, talk, talk._ Don't you get enough of that with dear old Jack?"

"He threatens me a bit less."

"What a _bore_."

Her lip twitched, but she didn't let herself laugh. His alert eyes notice immediately. "See, dollface? You like this little _game_ we've been playing. But, see, I _gotta_ keep your attention. Can't have you _running_ off into the sunset with Elroy, just yet. I'm not gonna hurt him-"

"Thank you," she exhaled, looking up at him with relief.

"Shush, doll," his thumb travelled from her cheek to her lip to stop her from saying any more. "I'm not going to hurt him, _unless_ you ask nicely." Both of his hands left her, but she remained pressed against the door in confusion. What was that supposed to mean? Of course she didn't want anything to happen to Elton. Sure, he was a nuisance, but he was a nice enough guy. He didn't deserve... whatever Jack would do to him. Her thoughts railed against the juxtaposition of her role in Elton's life. Just a few minutes ago she had endangered him severely. Now? She was his sole protector, thanks to a disconnect in Joker's insane mind. She was thankful, and strangely uncomfortable with what this new role entailed.

"Thanks?"

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry this took a bit longer than usual. I have schooling and the like to keep me busy. It's a tad shorter, basically just one scene, but I hope it's still good despite it's length.

VanillaBear1994: I'm glad you liked the quote :3 It goes to my head a bit when people quote me, haha. So thanks for that, haha.


	6. Us Crazies

Chapter Six: Us Crazies

The next few weeks that followed were strangely quiet. Jack still appeared every now and again. Actually, he appeared almost every night. He'd knock, wait for her to open the door, look around the apartment. Sometimes he'd leave immediately after, throwing out some mild banter before returning to his blueprints and papers. Most of the time he'd come in. She'd sit on the couch, reading a book or just staring over at him. He'd be in her kitchen, digging through her cupboards and her refrigerator for food. The man would devour whatever he'd found, almost grotesquely, mumble a sarcastic thank you and he'd leave as quickly as he'd come.

After a while she found she wasn't completely averse to his presence. Him in her apartment; it wasn't what it used to be. It wasn't a threat anymore. It was just a presence. The first few times she'd smacked food out of his hand, she'd demanded he leave. Then, after a while, she started leaving the door unlocked for him. At first she hadn't even noticed. The knob had turned slowly, his head poked in tentatively. Then a smile erupted on his face and he'd said something vague and horrific about their relationship. She'd been appalled at her own lack of self preservation. But, now, she left the door open every night. She sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. She'd look at him when he'd come in. She'd push him away from the stove while he burned something. She'd make it herself. She'd even bought extra groceries her last trip to the grocery store.

It seemed like a strange way to deal with a psychotic murderer who seemed to ride a tentative line between thinking they were a couple or thinking he should just kill her. But she didn't have any new bruises or cuts, and that seemed like reason enough to continue on this path.

* * *

"What are you working on over there?" the silence between them was halted by her question.

He looked over at her, mid-chew, the piece of sandwich meat hanging precariously from his mouth.

"What do you mean, doll? I'm eating this garbage because you _refuse_ to make me a decent meal," he shoved the meat barbarically the rest of the way into his mouth, emitting horrible smacking noises; she was sure just to annoy her.

"I mean- over at your apartment. What are you planning?" she attempted to sound nonchalant, keeping her book fixed in front of her face, but her eyes were trained on the man in her kitchen.

"Em, honey, sweetheart, light of my _life_," his voice dripped with sarcastic affection. "I told you not to ask about work. I come home, I just want to _relax_. Eat some..." he picked up another piece of meat and eyed it warily, "food." He shoved it in his mouth, making more unnecessary noises as he chewed slowly. "Talk to my _girl_," he waved his hand over to her. "Then, _maaaaybe_, we could-"

"What are the blueprints for?" she interrupted, fully aware of where he was going. He made a rough noise in the back of his throat, but otherwise didn't address her again. She pretended to go back to reading, but her eyes seemed to insist on finding his tall figure again. "Just tell me what they're for," her voice was level, but she knew he'd sensed her urgency.

"Why, _doll_? Gonna cry _wolf_?" He slams the refrigerator door shut and stamps over to her. Emma didn't flinch from his approach like she used to, which surprised even her. And for a moment she saw an undefinable glint of something in his eyes. He stopped a good three feet away from her, eyes slitted. She couldn't tell whether he was suspicious or angry. Well, she could never really tell.

"Just curious."

"No, no. I think my doll's a bit more than curious. Come on, come on, _out_ with it." He closed the distance between them, head stooped low to be at level with her eyes.

She held his stare, jaw locked rigidly. "Never mind, forget I asked." Feigning indifference was nothing new to her but, still, her knuckles were white as she gripped her paperback with all her strength.

He looked her over for a moment, his dark eyes glinting downward, face solemn. Then a wide smile took over his expression. "I'm just pulling your leg, doll." His body propelled beside her onto the couch, legs crossed immediately, long arm wrapped roughly around her shoulders. "I know you wouldn't _dream_ of telling anybody about my little plans. Because, well, you're my _girl_. You wouldn't want anything _bad_ to happen to me."

"Right, Jack, because I'm your girl and if anything happened to you. Oh my, whatever would I do." Deadpan. It had been so long since he'd even come near her; she was completely taken aback by his proximity and now his touch seemed stifling. The small girl tried to adjust her body to put some space between them, but his arm became rigid, hand locked over her upper arm in a vice. It was painful for a minute, but she reminded herself to keep her face from expressing it. He tightened his hand a little more, fingers curling into her flesh. She didn't make a sound, instead she turned her head to look at him. His gaze was kept at the wall in front of him, head lolling left and right as if he was about to start whistling with glee at any moment. But she can clearly see that his jaw is set. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she wonders how many times she's said that to him in the span of their relationship. "Just wanted to make conversation." She lied. But his fingers relaxed a little and he turned to her, eyes still lowered, but a small smile on his elongated lips.

"Okay okay okay. My doll's been getting _bored_. Needs a little attention from her _sweetie_ every now and then." His hand stopped its harsh treatment of her shoulder and patted it twice. "Well, what do you think I'm planning, Em? Hm?"

Her mind flew to several possibilities. What would he need blueprints for? Bank robbery? Wasn't that how it'd started out last time? But she didn't think he was the type to repeat an act. Plus, what would he even need the money for? He'd stolen so much last time, but he still lived in a shitty apartment in the Narrows. He ate out of her fridge. He wore the same ratty shirt and jeans every day. Maybe he was looking for something. She tried to dig through the reservoir of news programs she'd seen of him from two years ago. There was no rhyme or reason behind what he did; at least to her knowledge. It seemed like a game of cat and mouse where the mouse had no real goal. Other than, well, getting to the cat.

He started making tick tock noises, simultaneously breaking her from her thoughts and annoying her.

"I don't know, Jack. You're probably just going to blow something up, singing 'ta-da' before you get tackled by the police." She opened her book again, reading a few sentences in the silence that followed.

"Not completely off," he admitted under his breath.

She snapped the book shut. "Why don't you just leave?" He just looked at her. "Leave Gotham. Why don't you? This place is a shithole, you could go anywhere else. Where people won't... recognize you. There's buildings to blow up in other cities, you know." She moved to the other side of the couch, letting his hand fall to his side.

"Trying to get rid of me, Em?"

"I'm being serious, Jack."

For a moment she thought he was seriously considering it. But a smile appeared on his tarnished lips and she could tell that the idea was dismissed already.

"D'you think I want to leave?" His body turned to hers, eyes boring holes into her face. "Gotham's much too much _fun_. Not another city like it! Filled with us _crazies_." He gestures at himself and then at her.

"I'm not crazy."

"Oh, doll-"

"And I don't think you are."

His usually exaggerated face shows no emotion, it's purely blank. It's usually a stage for each sick caricature of emotion to play across it. But the curtain closed, leaving nothing. Instead he just stares at her. At first she hopes for a softening in his eyes or a light uncharacteristic smile to play upon a suddenly boyish face, but nothing happens for a few moments. Her deft fingers pluck at her paperback as her mind works hard to find a way to take back whatever she said that might have offended him. No stratagems appear in her mind.

"I mean-" she began to explain but he cut her short.

"Wayne Enterprises," he said. His face was still blank, eyes still searching for something he wasn't finding in her confused face. "That's what I'm blowing up," he says after a moment.

"Oh," the confusion left her immediately replaced by a slight trepidation at his big reveal. "Should I ask why?"

Emma noted that his face began to slowly adjust back. A mad smile, a dilation in his eyes, shoulders drawn up conspiratorially. "Oh, doll _by_ all means." He patted the area of the couch that she had just left vacant. She shook her head. "_Emma_, you can _trust_ dear old Jackjack. Just like Jackjack is trusting dear old Emma with his plans. **Come here.**" Not wanting to incite any wrath, she moved her body closer to him, maintaining a good inch of distance. He, however, would have none of it, and pulled her jarringly against his side. This earned nothing but a sigh of annoyance from her.

"I'm trying to pay a visit to an old _friend_."

* * *

A/N: This is short! REVOLT! But I hope it's chock full of interesting things so that you guys still enjoy it. My muse died somewhat, but then I read through reviews and got inspired to put another chapter up. I swear the next chapter is going to be at least 3k!

Oh and I _do _like to leave it on cliffhangers. Because I'm a sadist.  
- Grey

katielouse10x: Thanks! And no, it's not weird you want them to end up together. Bahaha.  
Guest: :') My Joker voice- I try and get him as close to Heath's as I can.  
Cairo: NEWSPAPERS :3 I'm glad you think she's brave- I hope she comes across as that. Despite her circumstances.  
Karabear: You have no idea how much I loved your review. That's exactly what I was going for with Joker, and I'm sooo glad that it's coming across. And Emma. Gosh, I know her fearful thoughts can get grating. Haha. I just try and stay away from those fics where the girl gets stabbed and she's like "lol love you." Elton! I'm glad you mention him, and I'll make sure to answer all your questions about him in the chapters that are coming. Again, thanks for the really sweet/insightful review.


	7. A Theory

Chapter Seven: A Theory

Emma awoke more groggily that morning than usual. Also a little later than usual. Her hair hung in disarray about her face, her neck had an impossibly painful crick in it. She opened her mouth wide, attempting a yawn, but did not seem to have enough energy to see it through to the end. Instead she was made aware of her need of toothpaste. So she hopped off her bed, stretching languidly, hearing cracks and cricks from parts of her body she never paid much mind to. These parts were now revolting against her lack of care and she heard them very clearly. Her hands did their repair, massaging roughly at her forehead, neck, and shoulders before she set about the rest of her morning.

The schedule between Jack and her was taking its toll. He didn't seem to need sleep, like the rest of the world did. He'd stay out at night, come to her apartment sometimes at night, sometimes in the morning. She didn't sleep while he was out. She couldn't tell why, but she found herself waiting for him to come back before she went to sleep. Even if he didn't make his appearance. Sometimes she'd hear the floorboards creak just outside of her door. A second would pass and he'd open the door to his own apartment and slip in. Then, she would sleep. But the time between him leaving at eleven thirty and his return; the time that used to be a reprieve from his constant presence in her life. It was now a time in which her nerves would fray. Where she would read at the attempt of being calm, but keep her eye on the door.

So, now, she was merely getting four hours of sleep every night at most. Which doesn't sound as bad as it was to a semi-narcoleptic Emma.

Decidedly not a morning person, she mainly grunted around her apartment that morning. Brushed her teeth, took a quick shower, mainlined in the form of a coffee mug. Her slumped figure was out the door within forty-five minutes. Facing Jack's open door, with him leaning against the frame.

"Fuck," she clutched at her heart in a caricature of a heart attack. In reality, she was expecting some appearance by him after their strange exchange the night before; so his presence wasn't wholly unanticipated. However, her eyes did glance quickly to her watch. She was running a bit late, but Jack's penchant for drawn out conversation would probably ensure that she would running a lot more late.

"You're very loud," his lips were downturned in a frown as he looked at the girl. "Couldn't get _any_ work done."

"I _literally_ just woke up, Jack." Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, face squinting in an attempt to wake up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to work."

He eyed her, taking in her unkempt appearance for a moment before pushing off the doorway a bit. His head lowered and his head twisted to the side in order to catch her eye. "Why should I let you _run off_ to work when you're getting in the way of mine?"

She finally looked at him fully, completely in confusion, mouth grasped for words that wouldn't really make a difference. "Jack... I do love this game we play," she paused as he straightened his back in pride, "but I've got work today." Her head nodded up and down while she talked; the same gesture you make at a child so they mimic an agreement. "Someone's gotta put food on the table, kid," she attempted a smile, but got distracted by her watch. She didn't wait for a response; instead she began to walk off. He didn't say anything back; and she let herself be a little relieved. Her hand grasped at the doorhandle to the stairwell before she heard his voice.

"All work and no play."

She opened the door, shrugging off his ominous tone.

"Makes Jack a violent, _violent_, boy"

* * *

She was rushing through the streets; her hands at her sides to keep her uniform from riding up. She had never been a minute late to work before. In fact, she would go out of her way to be early. That way she needn't rush through the preparations of the day before the diner officially opened. But now, she was running a good ten minutes late. The diner came into view, the door was already open though they didn't open officially for at least an hour. Which meant Elton was already waiting for her. She'd never been in this situation with him before; there was a slight trepidation in her gait as she slowly peaked into the diner.

Their work environment had become less than friendly in the past few weeks. Mainly because she had asked him to stop walking her home. In, really, the nicest way she had known how. But he seemed to have taken it as an insult. His outward acts to her didn't lend to this idea: he still remained as kind as ever. Almost stiflingly kind. But there was a definite coldness between the two, and the usual unreserved gentleness that he'd had before was gone. She brushed it off as a simple bruised ego and let it be that.

Elton's stout frame was taking chairs down from the tables before setting them down to their rightful place. Usually her job, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed. He had tasks of his own; he was just doing hers to make her feel guilty for not showing up on time. Passive aggression, she guessed, was Elton's biggest flaw.

"Elton, hey," she lets out after a moment, careful to avoid eye contact. "Sorry I'm late. I got held up at my building."

He stopped his work and leaned against a table, bulky arms crossed over his chest. "Em, it's fine." His voice isn't soft, though, which clearly denotes that it is not. "You've been kind of slacking these past few weeks, so I really shouldn't be surprised."

Her jaw locked. "I haven't been slacking, Elton. You know that." Her words barely made it past her gritted teeth. It was true, though. She hadn't been slacking. She'd done all aspects of her job perfectly without complaint. Her attitude towards the customers, even, had been better than before. This was merely him trying to turn her into some kind of villain for their slowly wilting pseudo-friendship, and she would have none of it.

"Well, you're ten minutes late. What do you call that?"

She starts taking down chairs with him, ignoring his question. The job is finished before he turned back to her, hands on his hips, waiting for her to answer.

"You're right, Elton. It won't happen again." Her eyes looked to her feet, not wanting to establish eye contact.

This seemed to satisfy him; because he slipped away into the kitchen without another word on the subject. Left to her own devices, she began doing the rest of her morning jobs. Though, mumbling to herself about just how much Elton should be thankful to her. She _was_ the one who was basically keeping a psychotic murderer at bay from him, wasn't she? Of course, he didn't know that._ And, of course, this changes nothing._ But still, bitter thoughts hampered her mood for the rest of the day.

* * *

Time passed slowly. Elton was colder than usual for most of the day, not exactly to the point where their work was hindered but to the point where she could feel the lack of politeness he usually had. Emma, concerned with seeming like she wasn't doing her job, worked to the point of exhaustion. She decided not to take any breaks, save for a ten minute lunch break in which she inhaled her food and went back to serving. By the time nine o'clock rolled around her feet were aching, her back was aching, her head was aching. Her mood towards the customers, however, remained perky and amiable almost to the point of sarcasm.

She walked behind the counter, in search of a plate of fries for a particularly rowdy group of teenagers who she expected to pay solely in pennies.

"Elt!" she called through the window into the kitchen. No response. Trying not to let her annoyance show, she pushed the door to the kitchen open. He wasn't there either. There was an order being charred on the burner, a pot boiling over, and what she suspected was her fry order being burned in the deep fryer. Grumbling to herself, she took the basket out of the deep fryer and turned the rest of the appliances off. _**I'm** slacking?_

"Elton!" she yelled out, opening the side door aggressively. There he was, leaning against the wall in the hallway. He didn't respond to her, which annoyed her further. Hands placed on her hips, she tapped her foot impatiently. It took her a minute to see how tense he was, how he was glaring into the distance. Her eyes followed his gaze to a customer. Broad shoulders, green-tinged hair. Her heart sputtered for a moment, her mouth gaped slightly.

"What's he doing here?" Elton spat, more hostility in his voice than she'd ever heard from him before. At a loss for words, she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Instead, she made a movement to go over to Jack. Once again, though, Elton grabbed her wrist. "Does he know you work here?"

"I mean- I guess," she said finally. "He knows I work at a diner. I mean- it's probably just a coincidence." She knew that it wasn't. Nothing he did was coincidental. He was there for her. And, suddenly, her newfound calm that she'd found around Jack dissipated quickly while she looked over at him. She couldn't see his face, but she could tell there was a manic smile spread wide across it. The girl knew that he was awaiting her with gleeful anticipation; knowing full well that she was having the slightest of panic attacks in response to his arrival in her outside life. Sure, it was just a job, but it was still her life away from him and his foreign presence in it raised more than a little trepidation. Her hand twisted out of Elton's grasp, giving him an exasperated look. "It's fine, Elton."

Elton put his hands up, stepping back. "Just-" he looked over at Jack, eyes appraising him for a moment. "There's something off about that guy."

"Well, either way, I should probably go take his order. And you should probably go to the kitchen and, you know, _make_ the orders."

"Em-"

"Wouldn't want to be slacking off, Elton." She backed away from him, making her way to the front of the diner.

After a few minutes of going around, telling the other customers that there was a holdup in the kitchen, she found her way to Jack's table. A few more seconds passed where she stood right behind him. He sat perfectly straight, hands resting on the table in front of him. She took a few tentative steps to stand in his line of view, noticing that he was wearing the same smile that she had expected. It widened when he saw her.

"Why, _hello_, dollface," he greeted, arms opening wide. "What a coincidence."

"Coincidence, _right._ Now what do you want?"

"Food."

She let out a long hiss of breath. "I have food at home," she said lowly.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth formed into a twist of contempt. "Real food."

"I bought real food."

"Tsk tsk. I let you run off here to your _precious_ job and your _precious_ Elroy. Now I expect good service."

"Okay, _sir_. What do you want?"

He plucked the menu from its holder and began frantically flipping through the pages. "Choices, _choices_, choices." He places a finger squarely down on an item. "Pancakes."

"Pancakes?"

"Pancakes."

"It's nine at night, Jack. I'm not bringing you-" His eyes lowered significantly. "Pancakes, then."

The plate had barely hit the table before he unceremoniously plunged a fork into a solitary cake, lifted it up to his face, sniffed it warily for a moment, and then took a large bite of it, rolling the morsel around in his mouth noisily. He mumbled appreciatively while she walked away to busy herself with the slowly dwindling crowd of patrons.

Every so often she would look over to him, trying to adapt to his presence in her outer life. For so long she'd only seen him in her apartment, in low lighting with her eyes almost always averted from looking directly at him. Now she peered over to him with an appraising eye. She was not alone- as a few other customers had given fleeting glances to the strange man as well. The sparse customers that stayed this late at night were a hardier bunch than usual; but even they looked him over warily. He was eating aggressively, shoulders slumped forward and his head stooped low to only look at his food. But it was more than his eating habits that made him so unwelcome. Even without his makeup and his antics- Jack was a force unto himself that people rejected. His scars marked him. Others saw them and were made uncomfortable by them. It unnerved them.

She remembered when she first saw them. Of course she'd looked, but not a cautionary glance that she saw others giving him at that moment. It was merely curiosity. Followed by a brief moment of pity. Then, embarrassment that she had even noticed. Now, however, as she looked at him- she didn't feel any one of those things. It's arguable whether or not she pitied him but, if she did, it was so slight that she could barely discern it. Mostly, she had a strong sense of distaste for the customers who kept looking over to him. A teenage boy pointed over to him, obviously trying to tell his friend to take a look. Her hand clenched and unclenched.

"Dooooll! Oh, doll." Her eyes flickered from the group of boys, getting up from their booth to leave, and trained back onto Jack. He was leering at her now, no traces of food left on his plate. He waved her over to him excitedly, obviously wanting to draw the attention of the other customers too. She conceded with a sigh, moving through the maze of tables before finding his.

"Give my thanks to the chef."

"Elton?"

He looked past her, she supposed to the kitchen window, and smiled wildly. "Never mind, it was awful." A small smile quirked her lips. "Now about the _bill_." He patted his pockets theatrically and she felt her stomach fall a bit; making the leap already in her head. "I seem to have forgotten my wallet in my other jeans."

"Of course you did," she said, kneading her forehead. "Don't you have any money?"

Smiling wider, "Burnt it all," he explained. His eyes closed for a moment, smile still on his face, as if he was having a particularly good memory. Then they snapped open, looking straight into hers; face mimicking confusion. "Besides- _someone_ has to work to put food on the table." He hit the table, making her jump at the sudden noise and a few audible gasps come out of the rest of the patrons. He laughed loudly, ignoring the caustic looks he received. His dark eyes solely rested on Emma, and he seemed to enjoy the reaction he got from her. "Still frightened of old Jack, huh?" his eyes were wide, expectant. "My little bird isn't so brave when _they're_ watching," he spit out, not breaking eye contact for a moment.

He stood up quickly, chair scraping against the floor. Another gasp slipped from her mouth as she found him uncomfortably close. "Oh ho ho," he said lowly, keeping his face level to hers. "I've _missed_ this." She turned to see if any of the other customers have noticed their exchange. They had, but one of his fingers tilted her head back to him before she could see their reactions. "_Maybe_ I'll stop by here more often, just to check on my girl." A protest was working its way out of her, but the finger that was resting idly under her chin traveled to her lips to shush her. "Now, about the _money_. I'll make it up to you, doll." The finger left her lips. He turned to leave, pushing her back a little to make room for his exit. Then he turned back to her, looking as if he'd forgotten something he'd meant to say.

A long arm shot out and grabbed her waist, pulling her to him. He pushed his scarred lips against hers. Briefly. Quick and chaste. As if it was just a formality. As if they'd done it every day of their lives. He pulled back, looking at her with a manic grin spread wide across his tarnished face. But his hand remained on her waist for a moment longer before falling to his side. She stood stock still, no thoughts or reactions able to penetrate through her confusion.

His face didn't reveal anything to her; his smile as good as any poker face.

"Wh-," she couldn't finish her question. She didn't know what to say.

He looked down at her, then his gaze travelled somewhere behind her.

"Just testing a... _theory_," he stated, before he placed a wad of dollars on the table and left the restaurant.

* * *

He was gone before she arrived at home. She knocked at his door over and over, but there wasn't an answer. So she went to her apartment and waited. Waited for him to get home and- well she didn't know what she would do. What to say. That he had crossed a line? Well, he'd done worse to her. He'd cut her and bruised her. He'd harassed and threatened her. But this... this was different. This was something she didn't know how to deal with.

She couldn't play along anymore. So she'd tell him just that. That she wasn't going to play his games.

She wasn't going to let him touch her.

It was twelve at night when she heard the familiar creak in the hallway. She had been sitting on her bed, legs tucked underneath her, computer playing a collection of songs she'd composed to distract her. She pressed pause, listening again for footsteps. It was him. Not wanting to wait for him to stumble into her apartment, she shot up from her bed. Long legs stamping determinedly towards the door. "What the **hell** was that?" she almost shouted as she tore the door open.

"Elton?"

* * *

A/N: 3,000 words as promised! Another cliffhanger as well. Took me a few more days than I'd planned to post it- but I've been so busy and I just wanted to get this whole scene just right. I hope you guys liked it. Any suggestions or remarks are welcome, too.

corbsxx: Thank you, thank you. :3  
katielouise10x: Love Jackjack! Completely understandable. Joker is the most lovable psychopath in the world.  
Astraphobia: Ah! I'm so glad that you like it. And that I've rekindled the Jokerlove for you.  
Leyah: "My day is complete when I read this fanfic." That just killed me. Thanks so much.


	8. Had Worse

Chapter Eight: Had Worse

"What are you doing here?" she sounded harsh. Not calm, not deadpan; she sounded cruel. There is a definite bubble of fear rising in her, but she pushes it back down sharply, making sure it's not apparent.

"God, Em. It's not like I'm going to attack." He put his hands up in defense, but she saw his fingers curl into his palms.

"Elton." She paused, running a hand through her hair with her free hand. "You're at my apartment. In the middle of the night." She leaned towards him, but maintained a good distance. "I don't know how I'm supposed to take this." This isn't completely accurate, as she's completely sure of what he's doing there. Maybe not the specifics, and god does she not want to know the specifics, but she gets the jist. There is nothing friendly in this visit. There are no good intentions behind him showing up at her apartment this late at night.

His hands dropped to his sides, still curled into fists. Then there is the smallest of smiles on his face. Not even a smile, more of a smirk, and it puts her immediately on the defensive.

"No, I'm not doing this," she states, transfixed by his smile. His eyes furrow and his head tilts; confused. "Go home." She tries to close the door, but he places his foot in it's path. She pushes harder, but the door doesn't budge. His hands against the door, _he_ pushes back, the force makes her stumble backwards. She reaches for the door once more, but he's already in her apartment, closing the door behind him.

"Emma, I just came to talk." He was using his words. Phrases that he'd use, but there was no trace of Elton behind them now. They seem more rehearsed, empty. His eyes were the same, no traces of empathy or compassion that she had usually seen from him. They were unfocused, almost as if he was looking right behind her. Or right through her.

"I don't want to talk. I want you out of my apartment."

"Well, I'm already here, so we might as well."

"You. Need. To. Leave." It sounded like a warning because, in a way, it was. She began backing away slowly, but she didn't know where to go. All she really wanted was for him to follow her further into her apartment so that she could get to the door. But he was not moving, he was standing right at the entrance; his large frame blocked the door almost completely, and it made her wonder if he had already planned this all out.

"I think we both know I don't really plan on leaving." He squinted his eyes, nodding his head a little as if she had said something idiotic. But she didn't saying anything back, she was looking at the door. Two scenarios played out in her head, one involved Jack bursting in with a knife, the other involved her running out of this situation and to the nearest police station. Not seeing any openings for either situation: she wasn't going to risk anything by talking back to him. Her time with Jack taught her to always play along, but this wasn't a game. This wasn't Jack.

"Emma," he said her name like he was weary, and his palms against his eyes forcefully. "I don't want this to turn into something it isn't. I just want to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked brusquely.

A few seconds passed in which he looked at her as if she was someone he did not recognize at all. "What do you mean 'what do you want to talk about'? You know what I want to talk about. That guy. That guy from tonight. The one with the-" he traced a finger from his lips to his upper cheek, miming Joker's scars.

Her eyes lowered and her heartbeat quickened a little. "What about him?" She already knew the answer; her mind had already formulated just what kind of a theory Jack was testing.

"Is he your-" he paused, looking down at his feet for a minute and then back to her face before continuing- "boyfriend?"

Before she could stop herself, her eyes roll. She saw his left eye twitch, but he made no other response. "This is what you came here for? **REALLY?** To find out if I might just be fucking around with some guy?" She was partly expecting him to look at his feet again, pretending to be bashful. But he maintained their eye contact, his face stoic but visibly restraining himself. She knew he was affected by her response to him, but she doesn't care. "**Fuck you**, Elton. Get out of my apartment."

She moved towards him, trying to get to the door, but he pushed her back. Her body hit the floor with a resounding thud, and she winced from the pain, letting out a low groan. "No," she heard, her eyes were still shut. "I'm not leaving until you tell me."

Her body was aching, but she managed to get back up. He towered over her, arms crossed: waiting for her to steady herself on her own two feet. "What does it matter?" she said when she'd gotten up fully.

"**Answer the question**," he took a few strides towards her, grabbing her upper arms to keep her from fleeing from him. His fingers dug deep into her flesh and she couldn't control a small whimper that escaped her throat. She was trying to just look into his eyes, trying to keep a sense of bravery or pride in the situation, but he was staring at her with such anger that she couldn't collect her thoughts. He dug deeper, and she could hear the definitive strain against the fabric of her shirt.

"Yes," she said quickly, panic taking away any fight she'd had. She thought that the answer would induce him to leave, that there would be nothing else to say in light of it. But his face transforms into one of pure contempt.

"Him? **HIM?**" He shook her, picking her up a few inches from the ground. She tried to squirm from his grip, but he was holding her too tightly still. Instead he put her back on the ground and stepped closer, fingers deepening their already harsh hold on her limbs. Tears of pain pricked at her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. Her answer seemed to have broken what little self control that he'd had, and she didn't want to let him know that she was in pain. His face too close to hers, only two inches at most away and all she could see was how his nostrils were flaring as he exhaled and how his lips tighten around his teeth. She avoided his eyes. "Really? After-" he stopped, but his mouth continued to move frantically, trying to find words. "How long?" he manages. "How long?"

"Get your hands _off_ of me," she said instead of answering.

He let out a wry laugh, a deep rumble of a chuckle that she could feel in her chest. "Seems like I'm just not good enough to even _touch_ precious, fragile Emma. But, I'm betting, you let that freak put his hands all over you." She bristled at this and brought one of her knees to hit him in the groin. He stumbled back. Freed from his grasp, she ran to the kitchen. He groaned, but she heard his footsteps already following her. A hand grabbed her upper arm from behind, flipping her around and ramming her against the counter. His eyes were filled with anger, and then surprise.

She was holding a knife against his chest. Her hand was shaking, but her jaw was locked as she glared up at him. "Let go of me," she spit at him and his hand immediately released her.

"...Em," he whispered, looking down at her hand instead of at her. She pushed the knife minutely, just enough to put pressure and make him stumble further back from her.

"No, Elton. You get out of my apartment. **Now.** You don't come here again." She stopped, assessing his face. He was still looking at the precise spot where the knife touched his chest. His lips were parted and his brow was furrowed. She could practically hear his heart beating erratically inside of him. For a moment she thinks about stabbing him. She knows it's the anger in her. It's also the fear. _What if he comes back?_ "You don't come near _me_ again."

He nodded, but it didn't make her feel any safer. The knife, however, was doing wonders for her sense of bravery. He back away, hands held up in a defensive position. She stayed in the kitchen, pressing her back almost painfully against the counter. She didn't know why, but the pain kept her calm.

"I'm... I'm sorry." She heard.

She didn't respond. When she eventually heard the door click shut, that's when she moved from her spot. She locked the door. The girl doesn't put the knife back in it's holder; she sits on the couch and watches the door.

* * *

Her mind was completely blank. Which she finds solace in, that she wasn't going over what just happened. That she wassn't obsessing over the ramifications. Her nerves were on edge, and she couldn't manage to calm herself. But calm meant reflection, and she did not want to go through that. All she wanted to do was sit on her couch, wrapped in herself, clutching a knife. So she does just that.

She wasn't aware of how much time had passed when she heard her knob turn. But she is aware of the cold sweat that appears once she hears it. And the way that she has to fight back a shudder. The knob turned again, then again.

"_Dollfaaaaaace_" she heard Jack's voice sing out. There was a moment of relief followed quickly by a moment of disgust. When did his visits become a relief? This thought lingered in her head, making her sure that she wasn't going to answer the door. She'd already been through this with Elton: she did not need another round with Jack. "Dollface, you're not gonna play cold shoulder just because of a little kiss, are you?" She didnn't respond. "**Emma.**" Seconds pass and she was almost sure that he'd given up when she heard his footsteps retreating to his door. **Slam!** The door shudders against his weight. He called her name out again, but she had already gotten on her feet and headed towards the door.

He'd dressed as Joker that night. The makeup was still pronounced, even in the darkness of the hallway. He sidestepped her into the apartment and she noticed there was a layer of what she assumed was soot covering his clothes. He slipped the jacket off and let it fall to the floor before whipping around to look at her. There was a sickening smile on his face.

"Work's been _killer_, then I get locked out of my house. Emma, Emma, Emma, you sure know how _test_ a guy." She just nodded and closed the door. She locked it, which made him til his head, but he said nothing. "What's that for?" He pointed his chin toward her hand, making her realize that she was still holding a knife. She almost laughed, but she's stopped by the look on his face. "Were you going _stab_ me, Em? Stab Jackjack over a _little_ kiss?" She tried to say no, but he pounced on her; knocking the knife out of her hand and ramming her up against the door.

"**Fuck**," she gasped, new pains shooting through her already bruised body.

"No, no no. No trying to distract me, Emma. Let's talk about this _newfound_ aggression towards Jackjack for a bit." He stopped and looked up as if mulling something over. "Then, _maybe_, if we have the time." His hands were placed at her shoulders, and his head leaned down to catch eye contact. "Now, I _know_ things have been a little _tense_ lately. Our home life has been _less_ than warm- and I want you to know that I blame you _fully_. But if you think you can solve all our problems through _stabbing_, well you've got an-"

"I wasn't going to stab you," she managed to get in while one of his hands was still searching in his back pocket for what she could only assume was one of his knives.

He looked at her, eyes lowered significantly. "Who else comes 'round here that's _stabworthy_, doll? Should I be jealous?" He released her from his hold, but stayed close enough to disable her from moving.

"Jack- can we just, you know, _not_ tonight?" she tried to sound like she's just too tired, but there is a tightness in her throat that wasn't leaving. His eyes started searching her face intently, before they land completely on her eyes. Instead of waiting for him to answer, she pushed him back and walked over to the couch. He still faced the door as she sat down; he didnn't move for a few seconds. She hoped that he would open the door and just leave her, but he bends down to pick up the knife.

"Who was here, Em?" his voice is calm as he walks over to her, twirling the knife in his hands. Calmer than she's ever heard before.

"Does it matter?"

He chose not to respond, instead he stared at her blankly. Seconds passed with her under his scrutiny, his hands idly twirling the knife back and forth.

"It's what you wanted to happen, isn't it?" she couldn't help but say after the silence dragged on. A part of her regretted it, but another part of her was still raging from all that had happened in the last few hours and she wanted to accuse someone to release the tension. That part wins out against her rational side; the part that blames Jack for everything he's done to her. For playing his games. For testing his theories. "So you should be happy that your theory worked out, huh?"

She stood up, trying to storm out of the room and into her bedroom, but he caught her upper arm. Right where Elton had tortured her skin, and she winced from the pain before pulling out of his hold.

"Don't touch me," she spat, more venom in her words than she'd meant. At this point she didn't want to play his games anymore, she didn't want to be his toy. _His doll_.

He ignored her, grabbing her arm again. Lower this time. He pulled her towards him and used his other hand to roll her sleeve up. She tried again to pull away, but he locked his hand tightly around her wrist. There was no bruise yet, just an intense shade of pink where Elton's fingers had dug in. She turned her attention to Jack, who looked down at it with an expressionless face.

"I've had worse."

He places his hand over the discoloration, his fingers trying to form against it but they were too long to fit with the bruise. She swallowed thickly, trying not to have any trace of the torrent of emotions currently playing through her apparent on her face. There was a long silence, where one of his hands still held her harshly and the other was placed soothingly on her sensitive skin. Then he left.

* * *

A/N: Huzzah! New chapter. That is all.

katielouise10x: It's not creepy to review fast! Haha. I actually sit panicking when I post a new chapter, so having a good review so quickly helps with my nerves. Haha. I'm glad you like Emma! I worry about her likeability sometimes, but I'm glad she's not a Mary-Sue. I don't know about the name thing, though. Maybe it's just coincidence? And Jack. Perfectly understandable. .  
angelstory800: Thank you :3  
ZenyZootSuit: He causes so many problems for poor Emma, haha.


	9. A Little Fight

Chapter Nine: A Little Fight

Nothing happened the next day. She'd officially woken up sometime in the late afternoon. Well, she'd woken up plenty of times before that, but managed to force herself back into sleep. She didn't want to go to work. She didn't want to leave her apartment. She didn't want to leave her bed. A part of her was just so very tired. Mentally, physically. Exhausted. Another part of her was fuming; unresolved tension making her twist and jerk every once in a while to relieve the pent-up stress in her body. Then she'd lay completely still, trying to keep her own thoughts at bay. After a few moments of staring blankly at her ceiling, she rose.

Her bare feet pattered against the carpet in her bedroom, and then the tile of her bathroom. She took a much needed shower with water hot enough to scald her flesh, but she didn't lower the temperature. It felt relaxing. The steam quickly filled up the small room and her lungs along with it. It was getting harder to breathe, but still she let the hot water run. Before she knew it a half hour had slipped away from her. As she toweled herself off a small voice in her head idly fretted over the water bill. Then her sudden lack of a job. Then the rent.

What was she going to do? She couldn't go back to work. There was no way she could go back to her job now. Not after all that had happened between her and Elton. She didn't want to go back. She didn't want to see him again.

But she didn't know how to stop that from happening. Did she stay awake until four in the morning every night, sitting on her couch with a knife? Did she move to another apartment building? Her mind flickered to Jack before she could stop herself.

Had he done what she'd suspected? Had he killed Elton? She knew that was the real reason she hadn't left her apartment. What news waited for her outside of her little alcove? Elton severely hurt. Elton dead. Diner burned down. Elton's entire apartment building blown up. She couldn't guess the lengths that Jack would go through to prove his point, and she didn't want to. She wanted to sleep for the next week and forget that anyone outside of her apartment existed. Especially Elton. Especially Jack. Though, the latter might have already made sure that the former had stopped existing.

She kneaded her forehead forcefully, digging her deft fingers into her skin. _Jack probably just went back to his apartment. He's got bigger things to worry about than the stupid girl who lives across the hall._

* * *

Hours passed with her laying on her bed. Her towel was wrapped around her head and a loose-fitting t shirt hid her form. The anxiety had left her. It was replaced by an odd numbness that resonated throughout her entire body. She didn't even stir when she heard the knock on her door.

Or the next.

Or when it slammed open.

Or the _**thump thump**_ that followed.

Or the insane laughter that seemed to fill her completely.

It was only when she sensed him near her that she bothered to look away from her ceiling. He was still dressed as the Joker, makeup smeared across his face dramatically. The layer of dust had shifted slightly, but she could tell he hadn't changed since the night before. Her mind deduced that he hadn't had time. He had probably gone straight to Elton's. She didn't know how he knew where Elton lived. It just seemed like something he would just know. Just because of who he was. His connections. His obsessiveness. All she knew was that Elton was dead, and a strange part of her felt... relieved.

"Don't you look down in the dumps," his teasing voice rang out. "If this happens _every_ time some fella leaves a few _marks_- " he gestured at her.

She stared at him passively for a moment. He stayed silent, watching her just as intently. There was a sick look of glee on his face, which she attributed to him thinking he'd done a job well. "I guess you want me to say thanks."

"Thanks for _what_, dollface?" He looked as if he was literally on the edge of his seat, as if he was a second away from jumping up and down out of pure joy.

"Killing Elton," her voice broke, and she looked away from his manic sneer to the ceiling again. Her breathing labored for a moment and her throat grew tight.

"Oh Emma, _Emma_, Emma," she heard him move further into her room and then felt the bed shift under his weight. He sat just above her, leaning back on his elbows. "You sure know how to ruin a _surprise_," he said as if chastising her. "I was going to stand _there_," he pointed at the door. "You were going to be _here_," he pointed to the bed. "Wearing... not that," he gestured at her again. "I'd show you his **handsome** _little_ decapitated head." He stopped for a moment, and her eyes went back to his face. He'd tilted his head in mock deep thought and his hand removed the towel from her hair. He idly played with her hair, making her shift uncomfortably from his grasp. He gripped a handful. "I couldn't decide if you'd cry helplessly and _beg_ for your life or you'd _swoon_ and thank me," he smacked his lips loudly. "...Maybe a combination of the two." He pouted at her, bobbing his head with his words. "Being a white knight is a bit out of my _norm_. But, hey, try everything once! I'm a man of _many_ talents."

"I'm sure."

His eyes slitted. "What's with the cold shoulder, doll? I'm doing you a favor."

"I can protect myself."

"_Protect_ you?" he guffawed. "I'm not here to _protect_ you, sweetcheeks," his hand left her hair and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up painfully so she was looking up at him. "I'm here to make good on a _promise_." He stopped for a moment, waiting for her to ask what promise. She didn't respond. He gritted his teeth for a moment, letting out a low snarl that made her shiver in spite of herself. "I said I wouldn't touch him unless you said so." He looked at her expectantly, but there was a dropping sensation in her gut that refused her the privilege of words. "So..."

* * *

He was tied to a chair. A chair she'd never seen before, which meant that Jack had brought it over specifically for this. Which explained the thumping sounds. And the laughter.

Elton's face was contorted with fear. A rope was tied barbarically around his face, set between his teeth. There was a bruise forming on his right eye and a cut over the eyebrow that had scabbed over. It broke open, however, when his brows raised in recognition of her. He began making pleading noises, guttural at first. When she didn't say anything in return, they turned into squeals. Her breathing stopped completely.

Jack, however, skipped over to Elton. He looked back at Emma, wide smile stretched across his painted face. "Surprise!" He looked back and forth between Elton and her as if waiting for one of them to congratulate him. They continued to stare at each other, however. Elton, pleadingly. Emma, blankly.

"Now, Elroy," Jack bent over, lowering his head until it was at level with Elton's. "I'm going to take out this _pesky_ little gag. Now, I don't mind if you scream: I like _screamers_. Just ask our Emma," he waved his hand lazily in her direction. The gesture was just theatrics, as Elton's eyes hadn't left hers. "But I think Emma'd have some problems keeping this apartment if you get too... _vocal_. And, well, I like having her around. For... sentimental reasons. You can understand that, can't you Elroy? The _sentimental_ value of our dear Emma?" She heard a click. Elton's gaze left hers and looked at the knife that was pointing directly at his face. Jack waved it around haphazardly. He looked back at Emma, smacking his jowls and rolling his eyes. "So, if you make a _peep_, I'm going to _stab_ you. _Deeply_. Most likely _very_ deeply." He stopped, smacked his lips together again. "Yeah."

To his credit, Elton didn't make a sound when the gag was taken out. Jack seemed disappointed by this; he jabbed the knife in Elton's shoulder for good measure. The man let out a sharp cry of pain, cut short by his own whimpering. A tense moment passed between the two men, in which they looked at each other with equal disgust. Blood stained Elton's shirt.

"Emma," Jack called to her, but he kept his gaze fixed on Elton. "Anything you'd like to say?"

She tried to find words, but couldn't. He looked back at her, venom in his eyes. "What do you want me to say, Jack?"

His face split again into a smile. "Oh, there's a lot I'd like to hear. Let's start with 'Jack, _dearest_, stab Elroy here in the heart for me, won't you?'"

"No."

He shot towards her, making her step backwards. His large hand grabbed her small wrist, he pulled her closer to Elton. She tried to get out of his grasp, but he just held tighter, using his other hand to roll up the sleeve of her shirt. The bruise had only deepened in color since the last time he'd exposed it. It stood out glaringly obvious against her pale skin.

"Have a _looksee_, old boy. That's some good handiwork, isn't it?" He pulled her closer to Elton, making sure that her bruised flesh was right in front of his eyes. He released her suddenly; she stumbled back a step but didn't try to go any further. She was too distracted by the way Elton was looking downward, avoiding Jack's murderous glare. "Now I'm gonna guess what happened," he crouched low, leveling his body with Elton's tethered one. "Elroy's a nice fella. Wants a nice girl. Wants _my_ girl. See, he's been watching her for quite some time. Watching that _pretty_ face. Watching that _pretty_ rest of her." He was nodding his head over and over again. "Then he sees that nice girl with a not-so pretty face and Elroy gets it in his head that he _deserves_ the pretty face that he's been watching for so long." He grabbed Elton's face and jabbed the tip of his knife into his parted lips. "Stop me if I'm getting it wrong, Elroy." Elton just stared, bottom lip quivering against the knife. Jack's voice has raised significantly higher, to the point of shouting almost, there was a treble in his voice that she's never heard from him before. "But, you see, the problem with your little _assumption_, Elroy, is that I was watching that _pretty_ face first. And, well, I hate to be a bad sport, but I think that gives me a _say_ in the matter."

"Jack-" Emma whispered, trying to alleviate the tension building.

He ignored her, instead bringing the knife to the side of Elton's mouth. "You've got a _nice_ face, Elroy. Anybody ever tell you that? _Mint condition_." He smacked his own lips. "Wonder what a _little_ scar could do to that _nice_ face of yours. Right, Emma?" He looked back at her, smiling but with a dark look set upon his eyes. "Wouldn't Elroy here look a bit more _distinguished_ with a few _war_ wounds? I know _you_ coulda given him some, if _my_ assumption is right. But you didn't want to mess up that _nice_ face of his, right? **Can't. Blame. You.**" The smile disappeared.

"Know what I don't like about you, _Elroy_? Aside from the _obvious_. You're so _planned_ and _punctual_. Walking sweet little Emma home. _Playing _kind and _sincere._ Setting up a little **trap** of your own. That's slightly _obsessive _behavior, pal. And I know a thing or two about the subject." He looked back at Emma with a smile before directing his attention back. "You're _crazy_, Elroy. You just don't have the _scars_ to prove it." His hand tilted as if he was going to cut. "But _we _can fix that."

"Please..." Elton finally let out, though garbled slightly by his aversion to the knife still in his mouth. Jack's attention goes back to his victim.

"**No, Elroy**. No _begging_. It's _boring_. Can't you do something a _bit_ more original? Why don't you tell us what you were gonna do with Emma when you got her on her lonesome? Wouldn't that be a _bit_ more fun?" He looked from Elton to her, seeking approval again. "_Spill_," he dug the knife into the side of Elton's mouth until a small amount of blood appeared. "We're all _friends_ here."

"I- I just wanted to talk," Elton stammered out.

"_Taaaalk_," he drawled out as he looked at Emma. "Our boy wanted to _talk_, Emma. That bruise must have come from all the _lively_ conversation from dear old Elroy."

"I-it got out of hand," he was blubbering now, at the point of sobbing. His voice constricted in his throat. "I-I'm s-so sorry."

"Jack," she started again, grabbing his shoulder with all her strength. He let her pull him back, but he kept his glare on Elton. "Look at me." He turned to her, standing up fully until she was looking up at him. "Whatever you're trying to do. Whatever you're trying to prove. Don't. Please. I was quitting. I was never going to see him again until you dragged him-" He was staring intently at her, but she could tell her words meant nothing to him at this point.

"Did he come hear to talk?" he said quietly.

She stuttered for a moment. "I mean- yeah. I guess, he said that's what he wanted."

"**NO. NO. NO. **WRONG ANSWER!" He yelled at her, grabbing her arm where the bruise was. She gasped. "Now tell me, did _this_ come from talking?"

She searched his face. "No."

He turned back to Elton with a look of triumph. "I'm getting two different stories here, pal. Now, I _wanna_ believe you. It's much _cleaner_ that way. But I'll never heard the end of it if I don't listen to my girl." He stepped closer to Elton until he towered over him. "Now, hows about another question?" He twirled his knife playfully in his hands, rocking his head side to side. "How did a big _strong_ man, such as yourself, get scared off by little old Emma?" He didn't respond, but his eyes glanced at the knife Joker was twirling. Jack made a sound and flicked the knife near the tied man's face. "Well, well, _welly_ well. My girl _sure_ has spunk, doesn't she, Elroy?" He walked behind Elton, assessing Emma carefully. "She's got a little _fight_ in her. I like that." He looked askance at Elton. "I'm guessing you don't like the _birds_ with fight in 'em, Elroy. Makes your line of work a little harder, _hm_?"

He wraps his arms around Elton: placing the knife over his chest, using both hands to grip it's hilt tightly. His gaze is set on Emma. Her bottom lip is quivering and tears have sprung up unbidden from her eyes. "Now's your chance to see _just_ how much fight is in her, Elroy boy. Now look at that pretty face and ask her to help you." Elton doesn't say anything, but his eyes plead with her. "See, this isn't my decision to make. My _doll_ here, it's her decision. Does she want to save the sweet unthreatening Elton? So he can _live_ to assault her another day! Decisions, _decisions_, dollface. What's it gonna be?"

She stumbled for words in vain. There was nothing that she could say that would stop Jack. He'd already made his decision, but he wanted to tease her. Dangle Elton's life in front of her. But did she want to save his life? He'd seen Jack at this point. Knew where he lived. Knew he was Joker. What did that mean for her? That Elton would run off to the police, that it'd be revealed she'd known all along, that she'd be arrested for aiding and abetting. That Jack would be arrested. Millions of scenarios flickered through her mind. Seconds dragged on, Jack looking at her expectantly and Elton looking at her pitifully.

"Ja-" she managed before a she heard a rip and a horrifying sputter. Red streamed down Elton's chest. Blood splattered from his mouth as he gasped for breath as if he was drowning. Horrifying amounts of it trailed down from his wound. Emma was gasping too, her breath coming in short gasps as shock racked her body. She ran over to him, placing her hand over his wound, trying to stop the bleeding that was gushing out of him.

"Oops. Hand slipped," she heard over the pounding in her ears.

Soon the flow began to lessen, which she took as a good sign before she realized it was his heart stopping it's flow. His gasps for breath had ceased. He stared blankly up at her. _He's dead._

A shaking, blood-stained hand hovered over her mouth. She gagged. Tears were streaming down her face. She was vaguely aware of a laughter ringing out behind her. And that she had fallen to her knees. That hands had wrapped around her tightly. That she was being picked up and set on her feet.

Jack looked down at her with a lazy grin. "Oh _dollface_," he pushed hair back from her face, "don't cry. Not over a little accident like that. Slip of the hand, _doll_, slip of the hand." He cupped her face, searching it intently. His hand was wet, she realized, with Elton's blood. From Elton's now-dead body. She inhaled shakily. "No use crying over _him_, doll. Besides," he patted her face roughly with his stained hand, coating her cheek in blood. "Red looks _good_ on you."

* * *

A/N: Yeah, I killed him.  
Sorry about the delay, I've been comically busy. And lazy. And lacking in any and all writing abilities.

katielouise10x: I love your review, haha. Yeah, I feel like Elton mirrors Jack a little. I think I did it mostly to prove that Emma can defend herself, even against Jack. But she doesn't. I'm glad you like her! I write her without thinking about her likeability and when I reread I feel like she really alienates herself.  
Unquestionably Unhinged: Haha. I figuratively gave him the one-two for you.  
ZenyZootSuit: He saw one last one! Haha. And thanks :3  
leyah: I feel like he might. In his own psychotic way.  
Ed: Your review literally made my day. I'm so glad that you like the way I write Joker. I try really hard to keep him in character completely. I'm glad someone likes it! And my original characters, I'm actually really glad you took time out to actually note the developments within them. It's really heartening when a reviewer cares enough to note changes in demeanor and the like. Really, thanks.  
Smiele: So sorry for the lack of updating! School school school. Your review reminded me that I should buckle down and get my muse in gear. Haha. Thanks.


	10. What You Wanted

Chapter Ten: What You Wanted

"Red looks _good_ on you"

His laugh was loud, jarring in the silence that had once been there. She flinched from it, pulling away from his hand.

**Ha. Ha. Ha.**

She moved backward, but stopped when she realized what she'd see if she turned back. Fresh tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked, they fell quickly and were replaced by more. Soon she was crying, too scared to look back at Elton, too scared to look at Jack. _How could you?_ was the only thought she could manage, but she didn't say it. She knew _How could I?_ would follow quickly after.

"Em," he said as if warning her. She gasped as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him. "This is not the time to _mourn_ your little friend. This is a good time to _thank_ me."

She looked up at him with unveiled disgust.

His breathing was erratic. His eyes were wide. His smile was spread painfully wide. Her thoughts were moving slowly, while tears streamed quickly down her face. He kept staring into her expectantly, but there was nothing manic about him anymore. That had left. He seemed calm. Languid. Like he'd scratched an itch he'd had for a very long time. The opposite could be said of her, as her whole body had tensed up to the point of breaking. She was shaking, and not bothering to mask it. There was a deep ringing that resounded in her ears, a great silence that encapsulated her thoughts. She kept her gaze steady on him. She didn't want to look back. Look at Elton's dead body. Look at the blood that was dripping to the floor, pooling in small crimson circles. The look on his face; as if he was still asking her for help.

Tears started to slide down her small face. Jack's head tilted slightly as he followed a tear's path with his eyes. One of his hands reached out to touch it, but she flinched from him once again. The hand that held her wrist tightened painfully. A sharp gasp of agony escaped from her. The pain sprung more tears from her. He searched her measuredly for a few moments before he spoke again.

"I don't understand you, Em." He waited for her response, but she merely looked at him, her jaw set and her eyes blank with silent tears escaping. "Just like a doll. So... quiet. So BLANK," his free hand shot to her face, holding it harshly. She winced, but didn't make any noises. "I've just done something so very, _very_ funny." He guided her face and body all the way around until she was facing Elton. He was still tied to the chair, slumped over towards the ground. She tried to shake her face from Jack's grip, but couldn't. "Why aren't you _laughing_?"

A small whimper escaped her.

"A _reaction_!"

He flipped her around to face him again. Both of his hands now held her face, pushing back stray strands and locks from her face, trying to get a clearer look at her. His eyes were sickeningly excited, avidly searching her face. "My little doll is reacting to poor old Elton's plight, _hmm_?" She didn't respond; his nostrils flared and his eyes lowered. "No, no we were really getting somewhere, Em. Let's not relapse back into disinterest. Let's get some more tears going. Let's get some sobbing. Some accusations. Some heartbreak. Let's get **SOMETHING**." His fingers dug into her scalp.

She was slowly slipping from disbelief to anger. The pain he inflicted on her served as an anchor, bringing her back to reality.

"This is what you _wanted_, Em. And I _delivered_! Oh _boy_, did I deliver. So you should be _thanking_ me. For giving you what you **WANTED**." His voice was so loud that it shook his entire body, cracking with the strain.

"I want-" she managed to croak. He eyed her, expectantly. There was something in his eyes that made her reassess her words. "Get away from me," she said, barely audible.

There was a moment in which he just stared at her, his eyes wide and menacing. He had stopped all movements; he'd stopped breathing. Emma noticed that she was holding her breath too. His hands dropped from her, but he still leaned down closely. She looked up at him, trying her hardest not to break from his gaze. There was a time where she had been comfortable around him. She wasn't stupid; she'd never doubted just what he was. What he could do. What he could do to her if he had the inkling of a feeling that it might be fun, might be interesting. But there was a security in her ignorance. She'd never seen a dead body before. She'd never seen anyone die before. Now she had seen both. Now she was staring at the man who had introduced her to these things and she couldn't feel anything but disgust. No terror. No fear. Just a nauseous feeling deep within her. He was Joker in this moment, and it wasn't the suit or the makeup that sealed the deal. It was this look in his eyes. They were focusing and unfocusing, dilating as he stared at her. But she knew he wasn't even looking at her anymore, he wasn't even seeing her. She had the feeling that he was seeing all the things that he could do to her.

She ran before his hands could even reach out to grab her. Her small body propelled at the front door while his large one followed her closely. Her foot slipped on Elton's blood, causing her to skid down the hallway. He leapt forward, dropping to the ground and blocking her with his body. She tried to get up, but he blocked her again.

"Doll," he warned. But, before he could get out any words of admonishment; she kicked his leg, hard, making him fumble away from her. She scrambled away from him; half crawling, half running to her bedroom. His hand tightened around her ankle, but she kicked him mercilessly until he let go. She launched herself into her room, locking the door just before his body slammed against it. Then slammed again. And again. And again.

She pressed her own body against the door, unbidden sobs rising out of her out of sheer panic. Several minutes passed in which he tried to knock the door down before he finally gave up. She heard the door groan as he rested his body against it and slid down to the floor.

"Emma, _Emmaaaaaaaa_." His voice was nasally, taunting her again. "Open up, dollface. Let's not _fight_." A wheezy laugh came out.

"Go away, Jack," her voice was treacherously shaky as she tried to calm her breathing. She nursed her ankle, having hurt it somehow in the struggle.

"No, no no. I'm not going home angry, doll. We need to _hash_ this out if this relationship is going to work. Now explain to me, in full detail, what's got you so riled up." He paused. "Is it the _murder_?"

She banged the back of her head against the door, screwing her eyes shut.

"I don't want to _play_ anymore, Jack. Please," she covered her face in her hands, causing her voice to be somewhat muffled, "just leave."

Several seconds passed in silence. If she wasn't sure that he hadn't moved, she'd wonder if he had done as she asked.

"You don't want to _play_ anymore?" His voice was low, losing all sense of theatrics. It made her whole body tense up. "No no no, that doesn't sound good for _either_ of us, Em. I'd get so _bored_ without my girl to play with. I'd go _crazy_ without these little games we play." She heard a faint rustle of clothing; he'd turned around to face the door. "And, you, doll. Well, it wouldn't be very _fun_ for you if we stop these games. No, I wouldn't suggest it. Because, well, why would I want to keep you around? Hm? What good is a toy that you can't _play_ with? Might as well _throw_ it away."

She swallowed hard, eyes still screwed tight. The floor creaked as he stood up, and she readied herself for another round of him slamming against the door. He didn't, though. He walked away.

* * *

It was about noon when she had calmed herself down enough to leave her bedroom. Jack had left that morning, come back, left, come back. There was a lull of a few hours, and she decided it was good enough or she'd be trapped in her room forever. So, she tied her hair up tightly and opened the door.

The first thing she saw was the wall right across from her room. Her quick intake of breath punctuated the silent apartment. Scrawled upon it in a deep reddish brown were the words: Ha Ha Ha. She pinched the bridge of her nose harshly to stop the fresh pang of unease and tears that had arisen. Her eyes trailed to the rest of her apartment. Elton wasn't there. She'd have thought that the previous night was a dream, but there was a trail of blood leading from where he'd died all the way to the door.

She blocked out her thoughts and, determined, headed straight to the kitchen. Once there, she got a bucket from beneath her sink and placed it under hot running water, letting it fill as she looked beneath her sink for any cleaning supplies that she may have. There was barely anything under there, aside from a wooden scrubbing brush that she didn't remember buying and a bottle of Windex. She grabbed the wooden brush and, after a moment of deliberation, she grabbed the bottle of Windex. The bucket was half full, so she squeezed a little dish soap into it, watching the bubbles erupt quickly.

Then she was back in the living room, staring blankly at the last remnants of Elton she would ever see. A trail of still wet blood that marked her apartment as a murder scene. The job ahead of her almost made her gag, but she buried her squeamishness deep within her and dropped to her knees.

* * *

It was a few hours of scrubbing and nothing seemed to be coming from it. Five buckets later and there was still a faint halo of ruddy brown that covered half her floor. Her body ached and there was a tight feeling in her throat that wouldn't go away. She sat in the middle of her floor, trying to alleviate some of the anxiety that was growing in her.

Her repose was interrupted by a knock on the door. At once her heartbeat quickened and a feeling of light-headedness overcame her. _Jack?_

"Emma, honey?" Ms. Johnson's voice called out from the hallway.

* * *

A/N: Took so long for me to update. So sorry! And it's short. So sorry again. I've been working on this chapter for two weeks and I just couldn't get what I wanted out of it. It kept devolving into hurt/comfort territory, and I would sob and curl up in the fetal position. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy it. If not, criticism is very very very welcome.

Smiele: I'm glad Elton is dead, too! I wrote him, and I still hated the guy. Haha.  
ZenyZootSuit: Thanks! I'm glad you like it, and glad I made you lol. .  
SaxonBandwagon: I'm just going to say that I _love _you. Bahaha. Your review made me smile insanely, and I'm so excited to hear all of your feedback. I try very hard to make Emma a real person. I'm just really excited that you notice the subtle things that I try and work into the plot without making it so overbearing. :3 Anyways, just really nice review and I love you and stuff.  
The-Cheshire's-Rival: Haha. I found it amusing while I was writing it. THIS IS NEXT. I promise more soon.  
Cypris88: c.3 I feared the jump, too! But I feel like it was Emma trying to find a way to protect herself, by trying to get on his good side or show how she could be helpful. So he wouldn't, you know, kill her and stuff. c.7 Bahaha, I'm glad you liked that bit. .  
Australia: Thank you, thank you!  
Rehaniah: Oh god, your review is so sweet. I'm so glad you think my Joker is similar to the film. Thank you, thank you, thank you. And I will keep updating, I just can't promise that it'll be quite so fast, haha.  
Sue-san: It is done! Sorry for the wait!  
katielouse10x: Aw, thanks! I always look forward to your reviews! You got me to finish this last chapter up though, so thanks!


	11. Alright

Jack's Place 10: Alright

"Emma, honey?"

The woman's voice triggered a lapse in all sound or movement in the apartment. Emma couldn't manage to look up from the floor. Her floor. Still covered in blood. Her heartbeat shot up rapidly as she looked at the remnants of the murder that occurred just a day ago. What was she going to do? What could she do?

"Emma?"

She shot up quickly, dropping the sponge to the floor in her haste. Her legs shook as she clambered to the door, pressing her palms against the surface to steady herself. Her voice, however, remained shaky.

"Ms. Johnson?" her voice could barely escape her throat.

"Oh, Emma, I thought you'd be home," there was a lengthy pause in which she could just imagine the older woman sputtering for words. "Can-can I come in?"

Her eyes flickered back to her tarnished floor.

"I... I'm kind of busy right now," she stuttered, "Maybe... some other time."

"Just for a minute, dear, I just want to talk."

She calmed her breathing, opening the door a fraction to look at the older woman. Ms. Johnson was staring at Emma tentatively, a faltering smile on her wrinkled face. She seemed to have come over for a specific reason that made her uncomfortable, and Emma felt a newer form of apprehension in seeing her like this. She slipped out of her doorway a little awkwardly, closing the door behind her.

"Can we talk in the hallway? It's just kind of a mess in there." Her voice wavered slightly, but she covered it with a hiccup of a laugh.

Ms. Johnson stared at her intently for a moment, looking her over up and down with a weird look of pity that Emma couldn't quite understand. Her mouth opened a fraction then shut again.

"It's a bit sensitive, dear." She spoke slowly and waited for the younger woman to invite her into her apartment. Then, seeing that Emma had no intention of doing so, she spoke again. "Or… my apartment, if you don't mind? I'd rather we talk in private."

"Um," she stuttered, not sure what Ms. Johnson would need to talk to her about so urgently though a thousand thoughts ran through her head on the subject. "Of course."

The older woman started walking to the stairway, looking back to ensure Emma was following. "Aren't you going to lock your door, honey?"

"Wouldn't make a difference."

* * *

Emma found herself in the older woman's apartment, sitting in an overstuffed couch, holding a mug of tea while the resident of the apartment rummaged through the kitchen for sugar and milk. She took her hair down from its neat bun on top of her head On her hand's way down from her head, she saw that her hands were slightly tinged red from her attempts at cleaning her apartment floor. Ms. Johnson walked into the room, finding Emma scrubbing her fingers against her t-shirt.

The older woman let out a tittering laugh. "What have you been doing up there?"

"Just a little cleaning, must have…scrubbed too hard or something."

Ms. Johnson placed a bowl of sugar down on the table and sat down across from Emma. She nursed her own mug of tea between her wrinkled hands, tapping a finger against the brim.

"It's been a while since you've been in here."

She looked at her cup of tea, avoiding eye contact. It had been a few months since she'd last seen the older woman. She usually came by every month, but the appointment kept slipping her mind due to the somewhat strenuous turn her life had taken.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I've been busier than usual."

The older woman's face crinkled into a warm smile. "It's alright, dear. Just miss the company is all." Her smile faltered for a moment and she looked at Emma contemplatively, as if she had something very important to say but didn't know exactly how to phrase it. "But you've got Jack to fret over now, I suppose. He told me that you two were seeing each other."

Emma sputtered into her tea. The older woman let out a small laugh and handed her a handkerchief.

"No worries, Emma. There are no rules against tenants dating," the older woman attempted an understanding voice, but there was a strain in it.

"It's just… we're not. We're not dating." She punctuated the words with a bit of force, more defensively than she had intended. The older woman seemed to taken aback and Emma was left feeling as if she'd offended her.

"Either way… there's been some complaints." Ms. Johnson tutted as the younger woman opened her mouth to question her further. "Some people on your floor have called down about some… yelling. I didn't believe them when they named your apartment. You've always been such a quiet girl. I couldn't even imagine you making a peep, let alone the racket they've been talking my ear off about. I just wanted to talk to you. So you could, I don't know, explain?"

There was a pointed silence between them. Emma swirled the cup in her hands, avoiding Ms. Johnson's friendly but inquisitive eyes. There was a sharp terror building within her. So people had heard. What did they hear? How much had they heard? These faceless people complaining about noises while they were trying to sleep. Did they even know what was happening in her apartment? That there was a murder just one night ago? As they're concerned about the fighting lovebirds next door keeping them up at night, Elton was dead. If they knew that- well it would be a much different situation, she guessed. There'd be police. There'd be lawyers. There'd be handcuffs and electric chairs. She shuddered and looked back up at the woman in front of her.

Wasn't this an opportunity? Tell someone about Jack. Tell someone like Ms. Johnson. Sweet Ms. Johnson who would call the police and put another pot of tea on the stove. Jack would be arrested, she'd be able to get back to a mostly normal life. Then he'd get out. Kill her. Kill Ms. Johnson. Kill anyone who had ever talked to her. Anyone who had ever looked at her. She saw what he had done to Elton. Happy as ever with that knife in his hand.

"We just got into a little misunderstanding, is all." There was a frog in her throat that she cleared noisily, gulping down the rest of her tea though it scalded her mouth. "Won't happen again." She stood up rather suddenly, setting the mug down on the table and giving the older woman what she hoped to be a reassuring nod, but it happened to be a grimace.

"Emma. You know I don't mind a noise complaint. I wouldn't even bother other tenants with something like that. I just want to make sure everything is alright. That you're alright." Ms. Johnson stood up slowly, placing her mug down next to Emma's, old bones creaking in the silence that followed her words. She made her way over to the small girl who had wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. Then she hugged her.

A really simple symbol of affection. Commonplace to most people, but not to Emma. The action unraveled the girl. A steady stream of tears flowed from her eyes, gathering into the old woman's sweater. They stayed like that for a time, Emma holding herself tightly and Ms. Johnson holding her tighter.

* * *

It was seven at night before she left the older woman's apartment. There was a shaky truce between them in which Emma had begun to say something and the older woman had hushed her and told her she wouldn't say anything to Jack. She imagined that Ms. Johnson figured it was just some sort of lover's spat that could be solved with a few soothing words and an understanding shoulder. She hated thinking that the woman thought of her as some weeping girl, with a boyfriend that just didn't understand her. But she also knew she couldn't tell Ms. Johnson the truth. So, she had to pretend it was a small fight between a boy and a girl. Everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Her eyes were puffed and red, raw from the tears, as she walked up the stairs. Though she felt a great relief the further she got from the old woman's apartment. As if that exchange had lifted a weight from her shoulders that she hadn't known was there.

It could have been that she hadn't seen Jack almost all day. Which could have meant that he had decided to lay low for a while. After murdering someone in front of her, it did seem like a good idea to stay away. To not send her into such a state of shock and disgust that she was liable to do something regrettable. Well, it would have been a lot to ask from him, but she still managed a silent prayer that he wouldn't be waiting for her in her apartment. Another victim tied to a chair. Another night of manic foreplay before he decided to just off her, seeing as she was such a big headache for him.

He was leaning against her door. Her head was so foggy from the past few events that the whole moment was surreal, she almost felt as if she were in a dream. As if she could walk right through him and into her apartment. He wasn't there. His sharp voice rang out and she couldn't even hear it.

"Emmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaa," he said a fraction louder this time, waving a hand in front of her face. "You left your door unlocked, doll. Don't know what kind of _crazies_ could stumble in there. Lucky I'm a _gentleman_, thought I'd wait out here for my doll."

She reached around him for the doorknob. He swatted her hand away with a pout. "We both know the cold shoulder never works out for you, _dollface_. So let's start the game over again so I don't lose my temper." His hands tried to grab her shoulders, but she slipped away from him, finally looking him in the eyes. Her jaw locked and her heartbeat accelerated in an instant.

"Don't. Touch. Me." she managed through gritted teeth.

If she had hoped for this to throw him at all, it didn't. He merely looked at her with a mixture of boredom and contempt before placing his hands up defensively. "Sure, doll. No touching. Emma wants to play victim a _little_ bit longer." He closed the distance between them, but maintained far enough so that they didn't so much as graze one another. There was a sickening smile spread across his face, and she almost wanted to look away from him but couldn't. "Which makes me the _villain_. Not that I'm complaining. 'Do what you're good at' I always say." He let out a shrill laugh. "But now that old Elroy isn't here, who will be our knight in shining armor? Hm-"

"I'm not playing the victim, Jack. I'm not _playing_ anymore."

He grabbed her face, too quick for her to move out of his reach again. "Well, it _looks_ like you've been busy. Crying. Sobbing to old Ms. Johnson downstairs about old Jackjack." His voice became gruff, all gravelly and violent and it made her sick. "About how I _just_ don't treat you right. How I'm just working too much and poor Emma's _just_ so lonely."

"I didn't say anything like that," she stated shortly. "Now let me go back to my apartment and clean your mess."

He looked down at her for a moment in deliberation, his other hand raised up to cup his chin as his finger tapped gently against his cheek. "Well, if you didn't say anything like that, well… what did my Emma say to our _beloved_ old landlady? _Hm_?" His hand tightened a fraction around her face, earning a sharp intake of breath from her that seemed to goad him on. "Did my bird go off and _sing_? Tell Ms. Johnson all about Jack? Thought you would have learned by now, but it seems you're not that quick."

He dropped his hand from her face, shifting his weight from his left to right foot and back again as if readying himself for a race. "Now I guess I have to go pay her a visit," he said, making his way to the stairwell.

"NO!" Emma's small hand grabbed his tightly. "Please, don't. Please."

He had stopped, but he hadn't turned around to look at her. He merely stood there, as if completely frozen. Her hand slipped from his quickly.

"Please. I didn't tell her anything. I swear. She just wanted to talk to me. Some people heard noises from my apartment. Called down. She just- she just wanted to make sure I was alright," her voice cracked. "Nothing else. She didn't do anything wrong."

He still hadn't turned around to face her, and that had made her more anxious than if he had grabbed her again. "Jack?"

"Alright," he said lowly. She waited for him to say more, but he didn't. He turned to his apartment and opened the door.

"Promise."

He walked into his apartment. "Alright." He closed the door.

She waited in the hallway for a few more minutes. Her mind would have been whirring, thinking of a million possibilities and ideas for his strange behavior. But, instead, there was a deep chasm in her brain where all her thoughts should have been. There was a lingering feeling of confusion. There was a much more resonate feeling of exhaustion, which led her back into her apartment.

The mess that was waiting for her doubled the feeling of exhaustion. She went to the kitchen to get her gloves when she noticed a bottle that hadn't been there before. Clorox. She looked to her door for a second, wondering if it had been Jack. Then, deciding that it was definitely Jack, wondering why. She popped the cap off and dumped a little into the bucket.

* * *

A/N: I am so, so, so, so sorry. I honestly didn't think it was going to be this long for me to update, and I just really feel horrible about it. If you're still around, I love you and thank you soooo much for putting up with my shit, haha. And, if there is anyone to thank for this chapter being up at all it's Rehaniah. She messaged me, and she was so very encouraging. Sorry for the wait, really. I promise that the next chapter will be up soon.


	12. Nice Dramatic Twist

Chapter 12: Nice Dramatic Twist

The dinner rush was always hectic. The diner was never really a problem. There would be a few regulars, but nothing to the degree of the Fox Gardens. The Fox Gardens being one of the more expensive restaurants in Gotham, the dinner rush meant that no table was left without a fur coat and a set of pearls.

Emma dropped a plate. Cursing followed soon after. The swinging doors retracted from her, the damage already done. She pushed herself back into the kitchen, making way for Annette to bring out her plates. She turned to look at Greg, the friendliest of the chefs there. He cracked a smile and slapped a steak onto the grill in front of him. The bustle of the kitchen blocked out his words, but there was a sense of joking admonishment. A distracted smile settled on her face as she bent down to pick up the shrapnel of the meal. Her mind automatically deducted the money from her paycheck and she tried not to glower as she dumped the remnants of it into the industrial sized trashcan.

The money at Fox Gardens was good, better than at the diner. The tips alone could pay her rent. She could move to a better apartment if need be. And, once she got into the groove of a more hectic restaurant, she learned that she liked it. There was no time for stray thoughts or lingering ideas. There, she could focus on what needed to be focused on. Smiling was easier here, there was no faltering when there was so much to do. After a month, she started picking up other people's shifts as much as possible. Telling the owner that she had a lot of debt, and could work as long as they'd let her.

The best part, however, was the lack of television sets. The restaurant was a little too stately to invest in such a thing. This means that, aside from stray internet articles and a small radio that the busboys bring in for the occasional game, she spent most of her days in complete media blackout. Of course, she isn't deaf. She still hears what people say. The patrons, for one. And she has taken to appearing genial, so the staff speak to her about the news. The explosions. Nothing big, nothing as grandiose as she'd imagine.

But it means he's back. She knew, she grew accustomed to seeing him nearly every day. But the rest of Gotham City had been living under the idea that the Joker had gotten out of Arkham and decided to terrorize another city. Or maybe just disappear entirely. He was having none of that, apparently. Almost on a nightly basis, there'd be another explosion. Usually the upper floors of corporate buildings, sometimes lobbies. Enough explosives to knock all the windows out, but leave the rest of the building untarnished. A red HA scrawled across the walls in paint. Not exactly the subtlest of calling cards, but Joker never seemed to be one for subtlety. A city like Gotham never really runs dry of criminals, so it's rare for anything to truly cause an uproar. Unless there's reason to believe that the biggest criminal the city has ever encountered has come back. And there's no Batman to stop him this time. There's just the manic dog being set loose upon Gotham.

But silence at the apartment building. No sounds, no noises. She didn't hear him leave or enter his apartment. No visits in the middle of the night. There had been a knock on her door a month ago. She ignored it, turning her body fitfully in her bed. No other disturbances had occurred after that. She began sleeping normally again. She began smiling more frequently. After the last bruise had disappeared and there was no trace of Jack other than a white scar along her neck, she began to think that he'd moved on. She was no longer a person of interest, no longer willing to play his games.

"Em?" a plate slid towards her along the steel countertop. She picked it up quickly and walked through the sliding door, back turned as not to have another mishap.

* * *

The walk home is different. If there was any point in her life where she'd be happy to accept the help of Ethan, it would be on the walks home from Fox Gardens. A good hour away from the Narrows, she walked briskly, her eyes down at the pavement. Her work shoes are comfortable enough for serving tables, but a familiar pain sets in her heel about thirty minutes into the walk. She looks forlornly at the few taxi cabs passing her by, making mental calculations of how much it would cost to take one, then comparing it to the somewhat meager amount of money left in her checking. If she took one now, at about the halfway mark, it would be about eleven dollars. She continued walking.

There is a distinctive anxiety that sets in at the midway mark. She passes the diner she used to work at; The one Elton used to own. It's boarded up, there isn't a lot of business in the Narrows and when businesses close up shop it takes a good couple of months before it's picked up for another venture. She finds herself breathing laboredly as she passes, by the front.

She slams into something.

"God-" her knees hit the pavement and she sharply intakes breath. The sharp pain shoots up from her kneecap and she readjusts quickly to see if she's bleeding. The answer is yes, and she picks out a piece of gravel before she bothers to look at the man sitting on the sidewalk in front of her. Or, she imagines it happens to be a man. He's wearing a black hoodie and facing away from her. He's hastily picking up items that have fallen out of his backpack.

"Hey, sorry about that," she says briskly, already standing up and wiping the pinpoints of blood and gravel pocked into her knees. "Just a little distracted." The people in the Narrows aren't particularly kind, and she finds herself already bracing for the yelling that is bound to come. But the man stays eerily quiet. He's packed everything back into his backpack and zipped it up, but he stays facing away from her. Her legs straighten and she realizes that she is getting ready to run. "Really sorry," she whispers, voice constricting.

Cars pass by slowly as her and the stranger stay still. She looks around, wondering if she should just move along. A dilapidated van pulls up alongside the two and Emma doesn't waste a moment in clutching her bag and breaking off into a run.

The man shoots up from the ground and lunges at her, he hits pavement just behind her, but grabs her ankle tightly. She loses her balance and slams against the sidewalk once more. A strangled cry comes from her, but she already has no hope of help. The van pulls forward and two men in black hoodies come out of it. A new wave of panic sets forth in her when she sees them. Her eyes lock on the man's holding her ankle. Her foot finds his nose. She hears the satisfying crunch, but there is only a curse from him as his hand locks harder on her. She brings her foot up again to kick, but one of the other men runs up and grabs her by the arm, pulling her up and into him. He locks his arms around her tightly and she screams as he propels her into the van.

She claws at his face, but he only lets out a grunt of frustration as he shoves her from him. Her body hits the back door of the van harshly. The other men are entering the van and she makes another lunge for the open door. The man who she'd run into grabs her by the neck, one hand holding his bloody nose. There is a distinctive look of madness in him that makes her want to scream again, but his hand blocks her windpipe successfully.

A man behind her lets out one sharp "Don't-" before the madman slams her head against the door and everything goes black.

* * *

She sputters.

It's dark. That's the first thing she notices, after the pain. The pain is more insistent. It's everywhere, but not sharp. Just blunt pains all over her body, and for a moment she's confused by it. She's confused by the darkness around her, and the sharp constriction around her midriff. She makes an attempt to move, but can't. Her arms wiggle helplessly in the bindings encircling her, tying her to a chair. She's reminded me of Elton and bile rises in her throat. Her eyes take time to adjust, but none of her senses catch up. It's cold. Unbelievably cold. She wants to whimper, but fears that more noises will alert someone that she's woken up. Instead she breathes in deeply and closes her eyes. She flexes her sore muscles under the ropes, causing them to make a straining sound, but remain tight over her.

There's the rumbling of conversation in the corner, but she can't make out words. Muffled gibberish. She knows it's the men from the van, and her breathing becomes sharper as her heartbeat picks up.

"She's up," one of the voices says, and she lets out a sob.

There's clattering from where they are and footsteps slowly moving towards her. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears and she's breathing quickly through her mouth. Her eyes are adjusting and she realizes she's in a warehouse. It's almost empty, except for the dark figures approaching her. Graffiti speckles the walls and there's the sweet smell of garbage that makes it almost impossible to keep the air in her lungs.

"Please," she lets out. "Please, let me go."

There's a sharp cackle from one of them, and the bruise forming around his nose makes it clear who he is. She looks frantically to the others. They're still dressed in their hoodies, hoods pulled back. They're a disordered group of men, with no similarities other than gender. Other than a distinctive look in their eyes. Detached and dilated. Manic smiles, as if they've been exposed to laughing gas.

She strains against the ropes once more.

They stand in front of her, and there is tense silence between them. The few are looking from her to the one directly in front of her, and she assumes that he's their boss. So she locks her eyes on him.

"I-" she clears her throat, but it feels raw- " I don't know why you took me. But p-please. I'm no one. I don't have any money. No one will pay money to get me. You- you probably got me confused with someone else. And, you know, I don't care. I don't care who you meant to get. I just. Just let me go. I don't care. Please." She ignores the treble in her voice and focuses on his face, attempting to find any semblance of humanity in him. The only thing she sees is a brief furrow of his brow, as if he's confused. There's a brief gleam of hope in her that he believes her, that she isn't whoever he meant to kidnap. His eyes look her over, taking in her uniform. _Yes, I'm just a waitress._ He looks at her nametag.

"Emma?" his voice is low and gravelly. It makes her shiver involuntarily.

"Yes. Emma. Just a waitress named Emma."

"Good."

There's an ominous moment that passes between them. Then a scream rips through the silence. Her vocal chords feel like they're being ripped up, but she won't stop screaming. "**HELP!**" she screeches. A sharp hit across her cheek stops her abruptly. Her head twisted away from the hit, but his knuckle still caught her cheekbone harshly. The pain is intense, bringing a stinging warmth to her cheek. She keeps her head facing away from him, instead looking across the darkness to the door of the warehouse.

When she finally looks at him again, he looks worried. He's inspecting her cheek, and the others are looking around the warehouse as if it's going to collapse around them. The leader looks at his fist and back at her. "I- I wasn't supposed to do that."

She looks at him derisively; heart beating quickly, background noise to the churning of her thoughts.

"Where is he?"

There is silence, no one responding to her.

Then a loud bark of laughter echoes through the warehouse. She looks around, eyes twitching to every patch of darkness surrounding them. There is the distinctive sounds of footsteps coming out of the darkness to the left of her. Her eyes flick towards it, knowing exactly who is going to appear out of the inky blackness.

Jack appears. Moreso Joker, as he's wearing the garb of the villain and the telltale makeup. He approaches with his arms outspread, humming a fanfare for himself. She stares blankly at him. He makes an exaggerated gesture of arrival. She says nothing. He looks at her.

One of his men makes a lame attempt to tackle him, but Jack sidesteps him, looking mostly annoyed.

"Plans off." He doesn't bother looking at him, but keeps his eyes locked on hers. "Dear old Emma doesn't have time for _theatrics_." He comes closer, kneeling so that they're face-to-face. "Emma. Emma, _Emma_. How goes it, doll? Been a while, hasn't it? Been keeping yourself busy?"

"Boss?"

"Been working hard, Emma? Taking care of yourself?"

"Boss?"

"No troubles over at Fox Gardens? No boss getting handsy?"

"Boss?"

"**WHAT?**" He swivels and straightens himself out at the same time, using his full height to bear down on the man. The man quiets, unsure of whether to speak or not. His companions step away from him. Jack turns to Emma and gives her an almost bashful smile before turning back to his men. "Please excuse us," his voice sounds clipped, as if he's forcing himself to remain calm. The men turn quickly and make for the door.

Jack waits for them to have left entirely before he turns back to Emma. "So, where were we?" He kneels in front of her again, one arm resting on her lap. "Your new job. Nice and cushy, _huh_? Haven't had use of Jackjack over there? No customers playing rough at such a _nice_ place."

She looks past him.

"_Dooooooooooooooooll_," he drags out the nickname slowly, and she winces from its use. "**Still?** _Still_ with the silent treatment? I know I haven't been home much, but I didn't expect to find myself in the dog house. Now I set up this whole show for you. And I was gonna jump in and save you from the _big bads_, and you were gonna be all _warm_ and _welcoming_. Like after I got rid of that **Elroy** and you swooned and everything was so **swell**." He raised his hand to cup her face, placing his thumb exactly where she'd been hit by his henchman. She tried to twist her way out from his touch, but his hold on her just tightened. "Uh uh," he wagged his finger against her cheek, "let's have a little _less_ struggle this time 'round. And you know I'm being serious, because the struggle is _kind_ of my favorite part. But, I really wanna **work** on this relationship, dollface, and how can I do that when you're running off every time it gets **serious**?" He drops his hand from her face. "I make these big gestures for you! Protecting your honor by killing old Elroy! _Not_ killing that old bag, Ms. Johnson. Giving you some alone time. But now? Now Jackjack is getting bored of the silent treatment." He waits for a response, but she says nothing. "Emma," his hand goes to his back pocket, "you used to be such _fun_."

"Untie me."

He drew closer. "She speaks!"

"Untie me."

"Heard you the first time, just don't really feel like doing it." He takes out his knife from his back pocket and twirls it in his hands, waiting for her to respond. When it's clear that she won't be saying anymore more, he shoots up. Grabbing her shoulders. "Emma. Remember old Elroy?" She averts her eyes from him, but he moves so he's in her line of sight again. "This is the same chair he died so **nobly **on." Her lower lip quivers and his eyes focus on it, a manic smile spreading across his gnarled lips. "I'm not one for _p__oetry_, but it has a kind of nice dramatic twist, right?"

"Are you going to kill me?" Her voice is so near silence that he leans in closely.

He feigns shock, but there is a gleam in his eye that causes her to exhale sharply. "I can't lie to you, dollface, I've _considered_ it. A lot. In _various_ ways. Almost obsessively. Ha!" She tried to keep her face blank, but he seemed to find what he was searching for in her reaction. He moved his knife into the inset of the ropes."But no. Wouldn't _dream_ of it. But I'd be a lot more likely to see you out of this _little_ predicament you've got yourself in if you promise to _play_ nice from now on…"

He stared at her.

"Of course, Jack."

He tore through the ropes. Her body fell forward a little from the restraints and her arms shot up from her sides. She tried to stand up, but he put his hands on her shoulders to keep her down. She stretched her arms instead, trying to get the feeling back in them. He waited patiently. She stretched her hands out. He looked at them and placed his own hands in his pockets.

"Now, what do we say?"

A moment passed.

"Thank you," she finally said. A smile erupted on his face.

"You're welcome. Now, why don't I walk you home?"

* * *

A/N: I'm a horrible person. SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG.


End file.
